


All That Glitters

by theunknownfate



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Eye Sex, Fae & Fairies, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Injury, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sex, Slow Build, Smut, attack of the canon, leprechaun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunknownfate/pseuds/theunknownfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watchmen AU. Dan is still Nite Owl, but Walter is a leprechaun who has spent the last 50 years hunting down his missing gold. Written for <a href="http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/4155.html?thread=11030587#t11030587">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There wasn't much middle ground with the Little People. Something about them was either brain-stoppingly beautiful or frighteningly unpleasant. Sometimes both, and that was the most jarring, because the two wouldn't mix. One could have a face pale and perfect as a lily until he opened his mouth and it was lined with lamphrey teeth. One could also have a face as rough and coarse as a walnut shell with eyes like an angel peering out of all that ugly. That was Walter. 

You had to venture into mortal worlds to find a compromise and he had. He hadn't counted the years because seasons came and went as they should and heat of summer or cold of winter meant nothing to him. He had worn out five pairs of ten-year shoes and that was the only way he knew time had passed, three pairs since he had crossed the ocean.

He had heard the nixies, the shameless whores, whispering to the human men on the ship and seen the effect it had. One dove in gladly, white hands pulling him under until all that was left was their laughter and the last bubbles of his foolish mortal breath. Served him right. 

There were others that didn't succumb, at least not right away. He saw them straining together in their hammocks later, blood heated by the siren songs until they had turned to each other. It was more sensible than jumping over board but it still made the leprechaun's teeth grind. 

That had been years ago, but he still remembered. He remembered every discomfort, pain, or anger this trip had cost him.

Soon to be over, he told himself. He hadn't known the name of the man who stole his gold, so he had been forced to follow the gold itself. Every time it crossed a palm, he felt a twinge in his chest. It was underground, he knew, buried probably. The trouble was that this whole side of the ocean seemed to be paved over in stone and skewered with steel. 

He had thought all the iron would kill him when he first arrived, but he had persevered, borne it. It ate at him, stripping away his seeming, but he didn't care. It didn't matter if the last of his glamour died and left him a twisted little husk as long as he got the gold back and wreaked his curses on the thief. 

He had thought of a curse for every gold piece over the years and some he had said aloud, hoping they would reach the thief when he couldn't. He had wished broken bones and hearts on the human, to be always too late, that wives would be barren and mistresses would bear hedgehogs or newts instead of sons. He hoped his ill wishes had found their way here, as he had. 

His chest twisted and he knew his gold was being handled again. These humans surrounded themselves with iron, but they didn't know the simple ways to keep their Good Neighbors out. Fifty years ago, Walter could've gone in through a keyhole or a chimney, but the iron had stripped him of that. He got in anyway, locks were still his friends, and found himself frozen under the stare of dozens of owls. 

An owl in the house was the worst possible luck. If one got in, it would carry all the luck in the house away with it when it left. Maybe all his hexes had worked after all. But then he realized that these weren't real, just symbols and trinkets, deliberately arranged. The thief had brought this bad luck on himself. Owls were also guides to the underworld, he remembered. What was this human doing that he needed so many? He felt another pang from the gold and followed it to another locked door. 

Past that, down dark stairs, to a cave where the smell of metal made him shiver. None of it was pure iron, none of it blessed, so he could bear it without pain. He could still smell iron in the mix though and he shrank to the shadows. There was yellow light that lit all the not-quite-iron up like gold. He didn't see the pieces anywhere, but he did see a man, back bent over a table, hard at work. 

Interest cut through Walter's resolve. He heard the tap of tools and remembered his own craft, seven-league boots, shoes that could climb a mountain of glass, shoes made of glass, boots that could walk on water, slippers that would never stop dancing, and shoes that could walk the world over nine times before they crumbled away. He glanced down. His fifth pair of ten year boots was worn thin. Luckily, he wouldn't need another pair.


	2. Chapter 2

This was not what Walter had expected. He knew at least a piece of his gold was here, but he couldn’t tell where. It wasn’t until the man got up to cross the room that Walter was able to creep over for a closer look. There were tools, some he recognized. Pieces of metal in various shapes were arranged carefully around the table, and the end result looked like some kind of jewelry. It wasn’t that pretty as he judged such things, a buckled strap with two settings, no jewels and no gold visible. 

He could feel the gold there! Where was it?? The human was walking again and Walter ducked behind the table to avoid being seen. His knee hit a box full of other pieces and they jostled softly. He gritted his teeth. He had gotten so clumsy, but luckily humans were all but blind and deaf these days, and the man went on with his work. 

Walter made himself as invisible as he could (which wasn’t very anymore) and crept around to peek from the other side. The human’s face gave him a jolt. It had been a long time since he had deliberately looked one in the face, and for good reason. It used to be well known that to keep a leprechaun from escaping, you had to stare him down, no blinking or looking away. A blink or a glance was all Walter needed to be long gone, but it was usually best not to be seen at all. 

The human wore spectacles that made his eyes look huge. Like a staring cavefish or a dragonfly or, he realized, like an owl. Even when they weren’t directly looking at him, Walter felt frozen. There would be no escape from a stare like that. Another twist in his chest meant that whatever was being done on the table involved his gold, but still caught in the indirect gaze, Walter couldn’t even look. 

There was gold in the eyes too, tiny threads of it through the dark brown, and the lighter brown, faint as a whisper in the breeze. No one would ever notice it if it wasn’t for those spectacles, but then the man pulled them off and his features went back into proportion. Maybe if he hadn’t already been halfway spellbound by the partial eye contact, Walter wouldn’t have even noticed the rest of the human’s face, but he found himself mesmerized all over again. 

The human wasn’t especially handsome, nowhere near as beautiful as the sidhe or the glanconers, but he looked _real_. Touchable. Like you could lay hand on him without fear of being burned or poisoned or that his skin would adhere to yours and drag you away to drown. You wouldn’t lose all your memories or turn to stone. No mouth of needle teeth would open under your hand no matter where you touched him. He would be smooth and warm and full. He wouldn’t be a hollow shell under it. 

It was the first time Walter had ever wanted to touch something that wasn’t gold or shoe leather and he balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. It was also the first time he had ever had any idea why the nixies called to sailors or the reynardine walked with human girls out too late. They could be beautiful back though, and Walter knew better. Crossing open water, slowly adapting to the presence of iron, eating mortal food, hearing mortal songs had changed him, he knew. He was bigger, clumsier, the magic was harder and harder to come by, but his ugliness remained. That would never change and this was the first time in his long life that he even cared. 

The human picked up the jewelry he had been working on and Walter felt the twinge again. His gold was somewhere in that thing. None of it was big enough to hide a coin, meaning his gold had been melted down and made into something else. That didn’t vex him as much as it should’ve. He was curious now, a weird inexplicable longing that didn’t make any more sense than his lack of anger. Fifty years he had waited for this moment, and all his plans of vengeance and curses lay as still and hidden as he was. 

The human put the trinket on and it wasn’t jewelry. It was a new pair of spectacles that hid instead of magnified. He looked around testing them. How did he see at all through those yellow eyepieces? But he could, because he focused on Walter so quickly that there was no time to even flinch. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, on his feet in another blink. Walter gaped, unable to move as he was grabbed and pinned. “How did you get here??”

Walter couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, could hardly breathe with that stare on him, fierce and golden. The owls made sense now. The human gave him a shake, demanding answers that he couldn’t not give. 

“Followed…!” he gasped. 

“Why??” the man roared. If he hadn’t seemed about to explode with wrath, the word would’ve carried fear with it, but another shake rattled Walter against the wall before he could follow that thread. The grip on his throat, the wall against his skull, and the soul-baring stare were strangling him. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t think. When he was able to force a word out, it stuttered and staggered over his tongue. 

“G-gck-gold!” he gasped and the human stopped. Behind the yellow lenses, he couldn’t tell if the eyes were still on him or not, but he could feel them. He felt looked over, from his dirty fingernails to the legs of his pants, even shorter than was fashionable since the iron had changed him out so much. 

“How did you get in?” The anger and fear were gone, the aura of menace had faded. Walter gulped and nodded to a blank wall. The human took a quick glimpse and that was all Walter needed. He was out of the grip in another heartbeat, should’ve been able to vanish completely away, but only made it across the room. He was near the mouth of a tunnel, so he ran. Behind him, the human shouted, angry again. The golden spectacles still saw him, even in darkness, even with every attempt to be invisible. Maybe his gold had something to do with it. 

Walter ran, hearing footsteps behind him. The human was fast, and he was too dazed to summon up even his dwindling glamour to help. There was a ladder and he climbed it, even as the iron burned and roughened his hands. He crawled back out onto the glaring, blaring street, full of lights and iron and voices and all he could think of was to get away from it, away from all of them . Another ladder, still iron, but what difference did that make now? and he was climbing again, anything to get far enough away that he could think again.

A gleam of yellow and the man appeared, still after him. He had transformed, or his totem spirit had taken him over, leaving him sleek and winged, impossible to escape. Walter sprang to the roof and would’ve jumped to the next, but his jacket was grabbed by the tails. it brought him up short, making him teeter on the edge of the building.

“Stop!” the man said. “Let’s talk about this.” Walter couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand to be so helpless again. He twisted and pulled out of the 300 year old leather coat. It had been green when it was made, now faded to a lifeless gray. It was all that was holding him up so he fell and the last thing he saw on the way down was the gleam of his gold buttons under the yellow stare. All his gold in one place then, where he could get it when he was strong enough, but his resolve fell with him at the look of distress on the face under the golden eyes. It didn’t make any more sense than the rest, but he didn’t have long to think about it before he hit the water.


	3. Chapter 3

Dan kept trying to smooth the coat, as if laying it neat and straight would mean the body that had worn it would be all right too. Hollis watched him do it for the dozenth time and sighed. 

“It doesn’t make any sense!” Dan said, cutting off the comforting nothing on the way. “None of the locks were tampered with! None of the security in the tunnel was tripped! It’s like he just appeared in the Nest!”

“Manhattan can teleport.” It wasn’t a suggestion, just an idle statement of fact. 

“Manhattan is not a raggedy homeless man,” Dan snapped, then caught himself. “Sorry. But you should’ve seen him, Hollis. Just skin and bones and his clothes crumbling where I touched him. He looked like misery itself. All I could get out of him was that he had followed his way in and something about being cold. Maybe he was looking for shelter down in the tunnels and followed the lights in. I don’t know, but I should’ve helped him instead of scaring him into falling off a building. My secret identity isn‘t worth his life.”

“Any clues in the coat?” Hollis asked, not wanting Dan to dwell on it.

“Made of leather. A really long time ago. The guy said that it’s handmade, judging by the stitches. Would be worth a lot of it wasn’t so worn out. Buttons are solid gold. Guy made me all kinds of offers for them.”

“Doesn’t make sense either,” Hollis grunted, tapping one of the buttons. “If he was homeless and freezing, why didn’t he sell the buttons?”

“Do you think he meant that _he_ was being followed?” Dan asked next. “If he was in some kind of trouble, hiding from somebody…?”

“You think he sought you out?”

“… No. His face was blank. He didn’t know who I was, in costume or out.”

“They never did find the body?”

“Not yet,” Dan smoothed the collar for the thirteenth time. “I guess he could’ve survived the fall, pulled himself out.”

“You think he’ll come back?” Hollis asked, nodding toward the basement door. 

“If this is the most valuable thing he owns, he might.” Dan sighed. “So I’ll keep it for him just in case.”


	4. Chapter 4

The river was fouler than anything he could remember. It was too tainted to even be called water anymore, unfit to drink or wash in, and therefore not water. What else could it be, besides a fitting grave? The humans had done this to the river, just as they had done it to him. He didn’t know what he was now. Too corrupted, big, clumsy, and unmagical to ever be what he had been, too old, otherworldly, and sensitive to iron to be one of them. What was he? Something as damaged as the poor river. No naiads here, just dead birds, and black oil pretending to be rainbows around trash that had been brightly colored once. 

He could sink and be gone. He might be human enough to drown now. The current could take him out to sea for the merrows to feed their sharp-toothed spawn on. Or maybe he was still fae enough that the running water would paralyze him. Maybe he would just drift and be forgotten. Maybe he would forget why he had come here and why his nature had betrayed itself so utterly. He didn’t want the gold back and that should’ve turned the world upside down. 

How could he not want the gold? He had earned every coin of it. That’s what came of carelessness, of interfering with humans. They interfered back. He had been taking a coin back to his stash, his 50th coin, and he had stopped when he had heard the child crying. She had been human, not as ugly as some, certainly not as ugly as him. She was lost, maybe abandoned, walking toward the dim lights of a human settlement through the trees. 

Her little feet had been bloodied on the briary path and he had given her his own shoes. They had fit because she was so small. He had forgotten in his rare moment of altruism that the shoes were what erased his footprints. He had deposited his coin, gone to make himself another pair of boots, and when he had returned, the gold had been gone. 

He realized now that the owl avatar wasn’t old enough to have been the one to take his gold. He had changed enough to recognize the passage of time. Maybe it had been the human's father or grandfather, passing it down until an heir that didn’t know where his family’s fortune had come from had used leprechaun gold to make a pair of spectacles. Just thinking about it made his chest tighten, or maybe the spectacles were being used again. 

He felt hands and was pulled around to face something. He couldn’t see it clearly through the filthy water, but it was bigger than him, matted with garbage and leaving a dirty trail behind it. It wasn’t until he heard the voice that he recognized a melusine. She reflected her river, pale as a drowned corpse here, black as rotted waterweeds there, scales gleaming like broken glass amongst the trash. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said. 

“Neither should you.” Being contrary was more natural than breathing, it seemed.

“Go to your home, foot-maker.” She was towing him against the current now. 

“Shoemaker,” he corrected, not that it mattered. “And I can’t. My home is gone.” She whipped around to stare at him.

“Homes do not vanish,” she said. “They change,” she admitted, gesturing around. “But they are always there.”

“No.” He didn’t want to argue. She took hold of him and swam faster. 

“I know a place,” she said. “That you can live. Even the water is gold there. Your kind has always liked gold. I remember that much.” 

Walter let her pull him along. It didn’t matter what happened to him after all, and the poor twisted thing seemed to think she was helping. He remembered what that was like. She took him to a place where there was a cave, a tunnel, something that golden light poured out of, lighting up the murk at the bottom of the river. She dragged him towards it snaking through the brightness to push him out into open air. 

“There,” she said. “Home.” Walter flinched. This was the same tunnel he had fled down before. So it ended in the river as many things did. He had climbed the ladder. The melusine was already gone, so with no one to argue with and no place left to go, he trudged back towards the light.

He left a trail of stinking, oily water all the way down the tunnel. He himself was filthy and disgusting after his long soak. The human was nowhere in sight when he ventured back into the lit area, but his coat was. It was hung on the back of a chair and even in its sorry state, looked too clean and nice for him to put on now. 

He set his hand on the collar, looking at the contrast of the old dirty leather against his old dirty skin. Both had grime in the creases and gathered around the seams. Both felt like a tight grip would tear holes through them. He scowled and picked the coat up. It felt heavier than normal, but he wasn’t so weak that he couldn’t bear the weight of his own clothes. He remembered merfolk broken down into seafoam, trolls turned to stone, all manner of folk reduced to ashes or smoke. What would there be left of him with no gold or spite to hold him together?

He hefted the coat to slide an arm in and stopped. There was a whole new coat inside his old one. The first flicker of thought that there had been two coats on the chair and he had picked up the second by accident was stamped out when he saw that the new coat’s sleeves were tucked into his coat’s sleeves. Whoever had done this had intended him to take both and he felt a flare of rage at being tricked into taking something that wasn’t his, at being treated like a fricking house brownie. 

Then, came the sadness. Clothes had been left out for him. Humans had been getting rid of Fair Folk that way for ages. Tradition said that he should take the coat and never come back, and where could be possibly go? It took him a moment of forsaken misery to remember that this wasn’t his home either. He didn’t want to stay here with the stink of metal and just enough of a whiff of gold to torment him. Why would he even feel anything for being banished from here? And why would being given a coat keep him from coming back if he decided he wanted to? If he lost his connection to the old ways, he was no longer bound by them, right? He could do what he wanted, if he only knew what that was. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, dripping dark puddles on the floor and staring at the coat-within-a-coat. When he finally felt the eyes and looked up, he didn’t know how long the human had been watching him either. The human was sitting on the stairs, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, face solemn. The yellow eyepieces hung around his neck now. 

“It’s for you,” he said, tilting his head towards the coat, as if a nod would’ve been too fast and frightening a movement. “My apology. For chasing you off.”

Walter just stared at him, letting the mild words drift into sense. 

“No one is supposed to know about this place,” the man said, looking away at the rest of the room. A real leprechaun wouldn’t have been there when his eyes came back, but Walter remained. “It could mean my life if the wrong person found out. That’s why I lost my temper so badly when I saw you. I am sorry for that.”

“Don’t need it,” Walter heard himself grumble. He wondered if he had sounded this raspy and ungrateful to the Melusine. 

“You’re shivering,” the man said. Walter shook his head, and water sprayed onto the old leather. 

“Are you hurt?” He shook his head again. “Why aren’t you moving?”

Walter didn’t have an answer to that, so he just stood there, still dripping, still holding the coat. He didn’t move when he heard the man get up, or his wary footsteps across the floor. He didn’t even move when mortal hands touched his shoulder. 

“You’re soaked,” the man said. “And you’re freezing. How long were you in the river?? Just… just come with me. I won’t hurt you. Just come upstairs where it’s warmer. Come with me.” And then Walter was being gently led to the stairs and nudged up them and maybe it was the paralysis of iron and running water both working on him finally because he couldn’t force up an argument or an escape.


	5. Chapter 5

The homeless man didn’t seem very tall, but Dan couldn’t be sure since he walked with such a slouch. By his silhouette, Dan might’ve guessed he was a teenager, but the face was rough and lined, and the body under his hands felt hard and wiry. Dan’s mind was a little staggered by his condition. 

The guy was soaked to the bone. It had been three days. He should’ve dried out by now. He couldn’t have been in the river for three solid days. That was crazy. And he hadn’t tripped any of the new security on the subway entrance. Had he swam back to the river entrance? Impossible. No human could do that without equipment, especially not this time of year. 

The smell was unmistakable though. Filthy, oily, black river mud mixed with sewage and garbage and everything that had run off of New York City for the last 400 years. Had he been stunned in the fall and laid in the muck until he recovered enough to drag himself back? Was that why he seemed so shell-shocked now? 

“You can use my shower,” Dan said. “We’ll fix this. You’ll see.” The man didn’t argue, just seemed dazed and lost. He looked so out of place in the kitchen that Dan decided the coffee and offer of food could wait. “Get you and your clothes clean. Something to eat, something to drink, and we’ll sort this out. Start over fresh, right?”

The man didn’t answer, but panicked at the sight of the bathroom. He dug in his heels and Dan had to grab him under his arms to heave him over the threshold. 

“Cage!” the man gasped. Maybe he was claustrophobic? “Cage in the walls!”

“Nothing in there but pipes,” Dan tried to reassure him, but he fought like a terrified cat. If they had still been in the hallway, Dan would’ve let him go and given him some room, but the bathroom was small and Dan himself filled up most of the door. The two of them tangled didn’t fit back out and Dan shoved him into the tub just to get out of reach. 

“It’s ok!” he insisted, holding hands up. “Just calm down.” Contact with the porcelain had shocked the fight out of the man. He huddled in the tub where he had fallen, even when Dan turned on the water and started to pull his boots and clothes off. Dan kept up a stream of what he hoped was reassuring chatter, partly to soothe and partly to distract himself from the layers of filth under his hands, but that sputtered to stop at the sight of the scar on the underside of the man’s arm. 

It was old, healed into a series of ridges, but it looked like a shark had taken a bite out him. Dan touched it gently and the man jerked. Actual skin contact snapped him back to himself and their eyes met. The man’s eyes didn’t belong in his face. The color wasn’t extraordinary, but the depths were. They were more like a deer or unicorn’s eyes, deep and wild and old. 

“What did this?” Dan asked. 

“Redcap,” the man whispered and Dan felt a twinge of recognition. The man was staring at Dan’s fingers on his arm, uncertainty and longing both plain on his homely face. It reminded Dan of stray dogs who knew better than to let anyone touch them, but maybe remembered being a Christmas puppy and that being petted was nice if only they could work up the nerve to allow it. He slid the hand up to the man’s shoulder and felt him shiver. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. The man told him. “Walter, I’ll put your clothes in the wash. Try to get yourself clean, ok?” There wasn’t an answer, but Dan felt his eyes all the way out the door. He hurried to get the clothes into the washer and change his own. He lingered by his bookshelf and pulled out a book he’d saved from childhood. He had kept it for the illustrations, wonderful, intricate Rackham paintings, but he remembered something about teeth and red caps.

He flipped through the pages until he came to the one he remembered, of four dwarf-like creatures who had killed a man and were dipping their stocking caps in his blood. No wonder his mother hadn’t liked reading this to him. They had maws of sharp teeth and the caption said they could bite through anything and would die if they allowed the blood in their hats to dry out completely. Redcaps. 

What had he gotten himself into really? Dan wondered, but then he heard a thump from the bathroom and hurried up.

Walter was curled up in the tub. Dan couldn’t tell if he had fallen or just finished his slow collapse. He did look cleaner, red hair and freckles bright against the nocturnally pale skin. There were red blisters on his hands too, like they had been burned. 

“Something’s wrong with the water,” Walter whispered. He wasn’t surprised. The poor melusine was proof of that. 

“It’s treated,” Dan said, turning off the shower. He pulled Walter back to a sitting position. There were other scars on his skin; one that looked like a hot horseshoe had branded his back, another like fingernail scratches down the back of a leg, and a sprinkling of other stabs and gouges. 

“Something’s wrong with me.” Walter added. He seemed dazed and Dan worried about a fall again. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” he said, checking Walter’s head for a knot or bruise. “Where are you hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Walter closed his eyes so Dan couldn’t look into them anymore. It made him look old and haggard. Dan decided to chance it.

“What are you?” he asked. Walter grimaced. 

“I’m not,” he said. “Not anymore.” Dan waited. “You won’t believe me.”

“You can disappear and reappear, but you can’t fly,” Dan said. “You keep mentioning gold, but you don’t spend it, even to keep yourself warm.” Walter has gone wary now, calculating and careful. Dan looked him over and they were both quiet for a moment. “Can you grant wishes?” 

Walter snorted. Dan wasn’t sure if he was angry or amused, and Walter didn’t seem sure either. 

“Have before,” he finally said. “Didn’t end well. Partly because mortals wish wrong every time. Partly because it’s my nature to give what they deserve more than what they ask for.”

Dan had felt his head spin a little at the word ‘mortals’ and was wondering why he was taking this seriously. Walter was looking at him through the wet curls hanging in his face, waiting for him to say something. Dan couldn’t bring himself to say it. He was tempted to ask if Walter had made the boots that were still on the floor, but was almost afraid that they would shrivel into dead leaves if he mentioned it.

“Paying for it now,” Walter’s voice dropped back to a whisper. “Everything feels wrong.”

“You said you came here for gold,” Dan put a towel around him. “There’s more gold on your coat than I have in the whole house. What gold?”

Walter’s eyes snapped open again. Something blazed in them, something vicious and vengeful.

“Where did your family’s money come from?” he asked. Taken aback, Dan found himself telling the tale of an immigrant grandfather who had run off with a girl his parents didn’t approve of. Somehow the elder Dreiberg had managed to find the money for their tickets and to set up shop in New York when they got here. He had invested what was left and Dan’s father had turned it into a fortune. 

“Your grandfather,” Walter mused. 

“There was a coin,” Dan said, remembering. “My grandmother wore it on a chain.”

They were limping down the stairs now; Walter still hunched and joint-locked under Dan’s arm. He let go of the towel to touch the goggles around Dan’s neck. 

“Some there,” he said. “Felt you handling it. Used to be mine.” They stopped on the landing and Dan stared at him. The moment grew long and awkward and then Dan swore under his breath. 

“I was feeling a little guilty using my mother’s wedding ring,” he said, starting down the stairs again. “Guess Dad had that idea about his mother’s necklace first.”

“Family of thieves,” Walter grumbled, and Dan considered taking offense before chuckling, which got him a dirty look. He set Walter down in a chair and wondered what you fed a leprechaun in crisis. He decided you couldn’t go too wrong with buttery toast and hot cocoa and started making some of each. 

“Tell me how you lost it,” he said. “See if our stories match up.” By the time the toast was done, the story of the lost girl and the shoes and the missing gold had been told. Walter ate all the toast and all the butter and was nursing his mug of cocoa when Dan offered to give what was left of the last coin back. Walter hesitated, stumbled over several words, got angry, then crumbled, which made him even angrier. Dan watched him struggle with it until it became too much and Walter’s head thumped miserably on the table.

“Yours now,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

The kitchen was quiet except for the tick of the clock and the hum of the oven cooling off. Dan took the moment to process whether or not he really thought the man across from him was a fairy tale creature. It was possible that at least one of them was insane, and the other crazy enough to go along with it. 

“This is your fault.” Walter’s voice was muffled against the table

“I know,” Dan sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Done something to me.” There was accusation there, or there would’ve been if there had been any strength in the voice at all. There was something else there too, but Dan wasn’t sure how it was meant. 

“… you mean apart from dropping you off a roof?” It could’ve been a joke, but Dan was serious. 

“Idiot. Was fine until I saw you.” Walter stood up shakily. He didn’t look up at Dan, even when he got up too. The words were angrier than his tone. 

“What?” 

“Wished it so long that it soaked in and set. Trapped in it now. Like mortar. Find the gold and curse 50 years of searching on whoever had taken it. Found it. Found you. Should’ve cursed your joints and eyes backwards and your teeth and hair to grow inwards-“

“Can you do that??” Dan couldn’t help but be startled. 

“I didn’t. Should have. Have before. But I didn’t.”

“Because of me.”

“Shouldn’t happen! Even if I couldn’t punish you, I should’ve still wanted the gold back.”

“It was all spent and invested a long time ago, I only had the-“

“I didn’t want it anymore!” Walter sobbed. Just saying that seemed to break some sort of geis in him. He jerked and Dan felt the snap, like a pop in his ear, of something breaking underneath. Walter’s knees buckled and he shrank against the wall. Dan caught him before he hit the floor, tried to hold him up. Walter had gone limp, as if letting those words out had taken everything else with them and left him empty. Maybe it had.

“We’ll get you more!” Dan promised, frantic at the thought that Walter might just crumble away to nothing in his hands. “I’ll replace it. As much as you like! Just don’t, don’t-“ He didn’t know what to ask for, wasn’t sure what was happening. Redcaps died if their hats dried out. What did leprechauns die of? Were their lives tied to their gold? The more pieces the longer they lived? Is that why they guarded it so zealously? 

There had been only one piece left and Dan had melted it down and broken it into pieces. If it was a piece of Walter’s life no wonder he felt so twisted and ruined. And if it was the only piece of his life left and he rejected it, what would happen to him?

“Holymen,” Walter said suddenly, muffled against Dan’s chest. “Said we had no souls. That’s why mermaids turn to foam and trolls turn to stone and goblins to flame. Said all our gold couldn’t buy one. That we were doomed.”

“He was wrong,” Dan said. “You helped a scared child for no reason and you spared me when you could’ve turned me inside out. You are kind and just and brave. You have a soul.”

Walter was silent, maybe thinking that over, maybe sinking into some new depth that Dan wouldn’t be able to pull him out of. 

“Do you know why you don’t the gold anymore?” Dan asked. Walter hid his face in Dan’s collar and his shame was obvious. 

“Shouldn’t happen,” he whispered. “Never happened before. Birds don’t swim, fish don’t sing.”

“Some do,” Dan offered.

“My folk don’t just stop wanting gold.”

“Why did you then?” Dan asked. “Walter? Why?”

Walter shuddered and Dan was afraid he was only making this worse, but he didn’t know what to do and until he did know, he couldn’t fix it. Walter’s mouth opened and closed and opened again. He squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers tightened in Dan’s shirt. His voice was barely audible, a sin so terrible it could barely be uttered.

“Wanted something else more.” 

Those words were electric. They could’ve meant anything, but Dan felt them sizzle across his nerves. He felt a hot flush spread over his face and had to swallow hard to keep down a stammering babble. Walter leaned against him, but was only upright because Dan was holding him. His eyes were still closed and Dan couldn’t tell if he was even still conscious. He could feel his own heartbeat fluttering in his throat and ears and wondered again which of them was insane.

Dan reminded himself that he didn’t know anything for certain. Walter might not have meant Dan at all by what he wanted. It didn’t make any sense after all, none of it did. And what proof was there that Walter was anything other than a delusional vagrant? And speaking of delusional, what was wrong with Dan that he, a grown man, even entertained such a ridiculous notion that a leprechaun had broken into his basement? It was bizarre and absurd and none of it explained why he didn’t dare let go of the man in his arms. 

So, if there was nothing to be sure of, why was he so certain? Hundreds of dollars worth of gold buttons, and the ability to vanish right out of his grip as soon as he had turned his head weren’t exactly normal. Neither were the scars. And the time spent in the river. How many times had three days been the duration in fairy tales? Underneath all his rational thought, Dan was convinced he was dealing with something beyond the range. And why would he, how could he be so sure if there wasn’t some glamour or enchantment involved?

Downstairs, he heard the washing machine timer go off. He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there at that point. He half-carried Walter into the living room and sat him down on the couch. It wasn’t hard to pry his fingers loose, but Dan still felt a pang at leaving him like that. He hurried down, hoping Walter wouldn’t wake up until he got back. He found that some of the old clothes had fallen apart in the washer, and hung those up to dry and see if they could be repaired later. He put the rest in the dryer and started back up the steps. 

His fingers toyed with the goggles still around his neck. _Used to be mine_ , Walter had said, _felt you handling it_. Dan’s skin prickled at the thought. He clicked the casing open to see the components inside. The gold pieces he has used gleamed bright against the darker metals. He made his way back to the living room and sat down in the chair across from the couch. Walter was still curled up on his side with the towel clutched around his shoulders. 

It seemed impossible that he could look so much like a lonely child and a broken old man at the same time. The scar on his arm looked almost comical against the towel, like a cartoon bite mark. The thrill of something otherworldly was still tingling up Dan’s veins and pooling in his fingertips. He stroked a thumb over the gold piece and saw the pulse jump in Walter’s throat across the room. He clicked up one of the settings and pulled the gold piece free to roll it between his fingers. Walter’s breath caught and one of his hands clutched at his chest. His other hand slid lower and Dan stopped, instantly ashamed of himself. 

“Not fair,” Walter said softly and Dan put the goggles back together quickly so he wouldn’t have to meet the leprechaun’s face when he sat up. Definitely a leprechaun. He wasn’t going to doubt that anymore. It was the only answer that made any sense. He certainly didn’t think he would react to any other unwashed derelict this way without magic in the works. 

“You said I did something to you,” Dan said and those ocean-deep, hare-wild eyes focused on him. “What did you do to me?”

Walter was dazed at all that was happening to him. Rejecting the gold had left weak and a little afraid that he might die. He had, what? Fainted? Lost all strength? He wasn’t used to sleeping and didn’t recognize weariness. It had been the twist of his heart that had roused him and it wasn’t fair that the gold still held him when he had finally given it up. His body had arched like a cat into fingers that weren’t even on him and that had never happened before either. 

“Didn’t do anything,” he said. “Not enough magic to do anything.” He was confused, but Dan’s stare was burning into him. It made his muscles tense just like eye contact always had, but it felt different too. It wasn’t bone deep and he knew if he wanted to move, he might be able to. 

“Something happened to me,” Dan said. “I have never felt like this before and it doesn’t make sense unless something changed.”

“I’m the one changing!” Walter insisted. “Maybe you feel the glamour bleeding out of me. Has to go somewhere.” Dan kept on staring and Walter shivered, even though he didn’t look away.

“That won’t work anymore,” he sighed. “Not enough left of me to keep the old rules.”

“You can curse people and grant wishes.” Dan was keeping his voice calm. “You didn’t curse me. Did you wish for anything?”

Walter was about to say no, of course not, when he remembered his first good look at the human in front of him. How transfixed he had been at the warm, tangible reality of the man. Had he wished for something? He had imagined touching the man, but he hadn’t wished for it. Had he? He furrowed his brow, trying to remember what had been going through his mind that night. Dan was quiet, still watching intently, letting him think.

“Well?” he asked, when the troubled silence grew long. 

“Saw you,” Walter finally said. His face twisted and he looked away, shame and anger in equal parts. “Knew the gold was close. Was looking for it and saw you first.” 

“And?” Dan prompted. There was another long, painful pause as Walter struggled internally. 

“Wanted to touch you,” he admitted. 

“Why?” The question was instant and breathless.

“You’re real,” Walter said as if that was obvious. “Whole.” He gestured at himself. “Haven’t been right since the gold was taken. Gotten worse. Lost bits and pieces of self and the parts left have nothing to cling to. Nothing solid about me anymore. You. When I saw you. Looked real. Wanted to feel it.”

Dan caught his hands and pressed them to his own chest. 

“There,” he said. “Like this?” Walter just made an embarrassed noise. “What about me?” Dan went on. “Did wanting to touch me trigger something? Make me want to be touched? Why am I so-“ He stopped and it was Walter’s turn to stare while he fumbled for the right word. “Drawn to you? Did you do it or am I just-“ He stopped again, not wanting to say insane or desperate or anything else insulting. 

“Didn’t mean to,” Walter whispered. He remembered thinking of the nixies and his own ugliness, and how humans might be lured off by his beautiful cousins but never had his own kind been tempters. He remembered the sudden longing and the empty resignation of knowing better. Had he really managed a comehither glamour? He had trouble imagining it. The amount of power it would take hadn’t always been beyond him, but he couldn’t even disappear anymore. 

How had he summoned that much glamour without even knowing it? Was that why he had no magic left for anything else? He glanced at Dan again. Their eyes locked and held again. 

“Are you?” he asked, fainter even than the whisper. Dan blushed, but he nodded. “Didn’t mean to,” Walter said again. “If I did.”

“If you didn’t,” Dan said. “Then what is wrong with us?”

“Insane,” Walter grumbled. “Maybe just desperate.” Dan blinked at him. Walter expected him to be angry, but his mouth jerked in a half smile and he snorted a disbelieving little laugh. A grinding buzz made Walter jump and broke the moment. 

“Let’s see what survived the dryer,” Dan said, getting up. Walter followed, leaving the towel on the couch.

Dan had been a little chagrined to see that the leather breeches were much too small now. Walter assured him that they were the same size they had been when they were made. He was just bigger now. 

“How does that even work?” Dan had asked, handing him the shirt that had made it through the last cycle intact, even if it was still stained and discolored. Walter shrugged and pulled the shirt on. 

“How did you get on the bad side of a redcap?“ Dan asked, stopping him from covering the bite scar. He traced the scalloped edges with a finger. Walter’s eyes followed the movement. 

“Made him some iron boots,“ he said softly. “He decided not to pay me for them. Barely got away.“ Dan thought of the picture in his book, thought of one of those things lunging at him, and shuddered. 

“What about the horseshoe?“ he asked.

“From a horseshoe,“ Walter said, a little dryly. “Iron, pure iron in those days. Horse ran right over me.“ Dan winced and stood back to let him dress. When he had been child-sized, the shirt might’ve reached his knees, but now it was pulled tight over his shoulders and barely touched his thighs. Dan went digging through his own laundry to find a pair of pajama pants so he wouldn’t have to keep pulling his eyes away. Walter hesitated at the offer, but stepped into the soft pants anyway. They were beige striped and had a drawstring, boring and comfortable. He started to ask what Walter thought of them, but found him staring at Dan’s costume case. His usual uniform and two prototypes looked back at them. 

“You see now why I have to keep this a secret?” he asked. Walter nodded slowly.

“Like a selkie,” he said. “If someone knew, they might steal your skin and you wouldn’t be able to fly anymore.”

“Pretty much,” Dan said, a little flattered at the comparison. “And it is about time for me to go out again.” He looked sideways at Walter. “What do you want to do? Do you want to stay here?” Walter made a puzzled sound and Dan took a breath. “You’re free to go and welcome to stay,” he said. “Either way, I hope you will keep my secret. “

Walter was quiet, processing that. When he finally shrugged, it had an air of defeat in it. 

“Nowhere to go,” he said. “Boots won’t make another long trip. Need to make more. Unless I’ve forgotten how.” He grimaced at that, as if it hadn’t occurred to him until he had said it out loud. 

“All right,” Dan said. “We can get you some supplies later. Unless you need special materials?” Walter just blinked. So maybe leprechaun shoes weren’t made of unicorn leather or anything. Dan went the rest of the way down the stairs to get ready to go. Walter sat on the stairs to watch him, and Dan did his best not to be embarrassed. He pulled off his clothes and started to get into uniform, a little too aware of the eyes on him. 

“I’ve never seen a selkie,” he said as he wriggled into the tight fabric. He felt clumsy and awkward and wanted to break the silence. 

“Disgusting,” Walter said. “All slime and blood under their skins. Smell like brine and fish guts. Have to wash it off. Humans usually don’t see them until after or you wouldn’t think they’re so beautiful.” Dan had to chuckle. He hadn’t thought of that. “Yours is better,” Walter went on. “Clean and dry.”

“Thank you.” Dan pulled his cowl up and then put his goggles on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Walter bite his lip. It crossed his mind that the honorable thing to do might be to replace the gold pieces with something that wouldn’t affect Walter so deeply, but then realized he didn’t want to lose the connection. He would have to ask Walter what he wanted, but that would have to wait. He turned back to Walter and smiled.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. “I’ll be back before sunrise.” Walter watched him go inside the metal bird he had made. It took off down the tunnel in a blaze of gold light. There was a splash and the smell of disturbed water. So some birds could swim, Walter thought, hugging his own arms. He sat on the stairs until cold seeped into the thin pants and got up to go back upstairs. He considered visiting the melusine, but she would likely steer clear of the area until the water settled down again. He could explore in the meantime, because home was just another word for known.


	7. Chapter 7

Dan got back a little before sun up. He changed and went up the stairs to his kitchen. There was no sign of Walter, but definitely signs that someone had been in his house. His owls had been turned to face the walls. What had Walter not wanted them to see? The milk carton was out and empty. Some cabinets were open. Some furniture had been moved too, probably for Walter to stand on to reach higher. It amused Dan for a moment. What had he been looking for? 

Gold seemed like an obvious answer. The old cufflinks Dan had were gold-plated, but there was hardly enough on them to matter. That’s why he hadn’t used them for his goggles. There was probably some covering wires or electric conductors in the walls or appliances, but not worth the trouble of retrieving it. 

“Walter?” he called a few more times. Was the leprechaun gone? Books had been taken out of his shelves and then put back across the tops of the others instead of in their places. Dan checked the titles just to see what had interested Walter, but there didn’t seem to be any pattern.

His St. Patrick's mug was broken. Maybe real leprechauns didn’t like shamrocks. On the steps was an old framed photograph, faded to shades of coffee stain. It showed a plump motherly woman, her hawk eyes at odds with the rest of her softness. 

“You found my grandmother’s picture?” He picked it up. “All this stuff was- Why were you in the attic?” 

“Was not my intention” Walter said, making him jump. “To cause you pain.” He was at the top of the stairs now, had appeared there without a sound and crouched like a gargoyle with bad news. His face was solemn as an undertaker’s. Dan’s indignation sputtered out under a vibe of dread. 

“I heard you planned to curse my toenails inside out,” he said, halfway joking. Walter’s eyebrows knotted, looking pained. “Look, it’s- it’s not a big deal. I just- How did you know this was her?” Dan asked. The coin necklace wasn’t visible in the old photo. He could barely see the line that was the chain tucked under her collar. 

“Seen her before,” Walter said. “Old country. Younger then, of course.” He looked like he didn’t want to tell anymore, but now Dan was curious. 

“You knew her? Really?”

“No. Saw her sometimes. In the woods.” Walter didn’t say what he had seen her doing. He shifted, bare toes gripping the edge of the top stair. He didn’t want to tell the grandson that his long-dead grandmother had been a whore or imply that the man she married might not‘ve been the father of Dan‘s father. It did explain why none of his previous curses had settled on the heirs if they had not in fact been sired by the old man. Dan still looked expectant, so Walter settled for another part of his unpleasant discovery.

“Grandfather might not’ve taken the gold,” he said. “Might’ve been her.”

“What? What makes you say that?” Dan looked at the picture with more interest. 

“She was in trouble the last time I saw her,” Walter said, squirming. “Pregnant. With your father I assume. Did… they have other children?”

“No,” Dan said. “My father was an only child, but my mother wasn’t. Why?”

“How did your grandfather die?” Walter asked, obviously uncomfortable. 

“Why?” Dan asked again. 

“May have cursed wrong person,” Walter sighed. Dan almost smiled.

“He died in his sleep an old man,” he said. “Peaceful as you can ask for. Feeling guilty?”

“One thing to curse a thief,” Walter grumbled. “Another to hex an innocent and only learn of it too late. From his child’s child.” Dan laughed a little. 

“That’s the thing,” he said. “Everybody's connected somehow. The people I fight every night? All somebody’s family or neighbor or friend. Even if it feels like it, nobody in this city is really alone.”

Walter fell into thoughtful silence, but Dan was pleased to see the tension had left him. 

“You’re young,” Walter finally said. “May learn different. “

“That so?” Dan pretended to huff. “How old are you?” A glint of mischief lit back in Walter’s eye. 

“I have seen the acorn before the oak,” he said. Dan remembered that from his book too.

“But have you brewed beer in an eggshell?” he asked. Walter smirked, then laughed. The sound surprised them both, but Dan only had a moment to enjoy it before Walter retreated down the hallway.


	8. Chapter 8

They fell into strange routine with each other. Dan made Walter as welcome as he could, but he refused the guest room for a cot in the basement and would only agree to stay until he was ready to go, which meant new boots. Dan found material for him, and they would sit in the nest together, working on their own projects, both of them pretending not to watch the other work.

Dan was glad to see that Walter was in no hurry to leave. He grumbled and nitpicked his own work, taking everything apart to start over more than once. Days passed this way and Dan hoped that when the boots were finally done, Walter would start on new pants or a new coat to put his buttons on. He could still feel the gold, but Dan was careful not to torment him. 

In the meantime, Dan still went out at night in his owl skin. He would relate his adventures to Walter in the early mornings and wonder if the ancient creature was actually impressed. He found himself fascinated by all the minute details of the leprechaun’s seeming, admiring how the rough lines of his face and hands seemed to flow like knotwork around his freckles and joints. Walter also had an incongruous smell, like moss and walnut husks and black earth. He smelled like magic deep underground, and even if he complained he couldn’t feel it like he used to, Dan could sense the magic in him. 

Everything was vague, nothing was set, and they were always catching each other watching. It felt comfortable, but expectant, like something could and would change as soon as one of them stared too long or the stars lined up. It was fine for the moment, and the tandem was kept.

Then one night, Dan left as usual. When he was gone, Walter realized he was almost finished with one boot. He decided to let it go for a night and work when Dan was there to see him busy. He wandered down the tunnel to see if the melusine would come talk to him. She had twice before, and been leery each time at how human he was becoming. The more human he looked, the less she had to say to him, but he could go talk to the water and see if she answered. 

A steady splash down at the end of the tunnel made him think the water was unusually rough that night until he heard the tune. Someone was humming an old, old song. Age and power and inevitable sadness resonated down the tunnel, making the puddles around him quiver. Walter crept closer and saw woman on her knees by the water, scrubbing something with her hands. She hummed as she worked. Walter couldn’t see her face to see if there was only one nostril or if her feet were webbed under her skirts, but he knew what she was, and stood stricken. 

He had had no idea that something this old and powerful still existed in the human city. The Washer in the Ford was appearing to him and why would she come here to wash the funeral clothes of the soon-to-die unless death was close? If she had come for him, there was only one way he knew to stop it. 

She went on humming at her work, leaning forward until over the water. If he could get to her side before she noticed him and vanished, if he could greet her politely, and (even if the thought turned his stomach) steal a swallow of milk from her swaying breast, he could claim himself as one of her children and beg for her to tell him how to avoid his fate. He crept up quietly, carefully, drawing near to speak. Then, he saw the shirt she was washing. 

It wasn’t his, stained too dark and red over the slits in its chest, flecking it like bird feathers. It was Daniel’s owlskin shirt, releasing clouds of red in the river water. 

“No!” he screamed before he could stop himself, lunging to snatch it from her. She vanished, taking it with her, and was gone like she had never been there. No manners or deception would bring her back now. And Daniel. Daniel was going to die. If not tonight, then soon.

Walter ran back the way he had come to the ladder and scurried up it. He had to find Daniel, had to save him if it wasn’t too late, and if it was… Hate, black and ugly, blossomed through him. If it was too late, he would find enough magic somewhere to curse the killers to utter ruin. He couldn’t think about that now, though. He clambered out onto the street and strained hard for any twinge of his gold.

He hadn’t followed the barest flickers of the gold for 50 years to lose it now, Walter told himself. A hesitant thought reminded him that it wasn‘t his gold anymore. He had given it away. Except that it WAS still his gold even if he HAD given it away, a fiercer thought insisted. He felt it then, a faint flutter in his chest and focused on it. He couldn’t be uncertain. Uncertainty was for mortals who didn’t live long enough to anchor their convictions.

The worry that Dan might not live long either made him grimace, but then another flicker made him change direction. His bare feet slapped on wet pavement. If he had finished his boots he could’ve run without sound, or leaving a trace. As it was, he was being seen, humans staring curiously or shouting rudely when he ran by them. 

How far could an owl fly in a night? How far did this awful city stretch? He kept going until another rough fumble at the goggle settings made him veer to the left. He ran across the street to the howl of traffic. Walter’s feet were numb in the cold and beginning to ache. He deserved it for wasting time with his new boots. Like Dan could ever make him leave if he didn’t want to go. Shouldn’t have even bothered with an excuse just to be polite. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

A flash of yellow overhead had him sliding to a stop. The not-iron owl, the one Daniel had breathed life into, was over one of the buildings. He made his way to the roof and inched carefully over to the hovering creation. It let him touch it, but didn’t respond to him. He wasn’t its master.

Dan wasn’t there. Walter peeked in through the glowing eyes and didn’t see anyone. But if he waited, Dan would have to come back to his steed. He always returned before morning, so if all went well, he would return here soon. 

Except it isn’t going to go well, Walter reminded himself. Daniel’s going to die, if it hasn’t happened already. Nervous again, Walter paced the roof, keeping an eye out in all directions. He wasn’t feeling the gold at the moment and worry sank in deep. He would feel something eventually. Even if Daniel was dead now, as much as the thought twisted in his gut, it was unlikely his killer would leave the goggles. They were amazing and would be a worthy prize. 

While imagining that felt like acid down his throat, a flurry of movement got his attention in the shadows below. A sharp cry from the other side, but no clear sign until Walter felt a violent grab seize the goggles and tear them free. It might as well have been tearing his heart out. He jumped and fell into the fight below. He could see Dan in the dark now, see the tattered wings, the red splashed around his collar. He could see the human with the goggles in one hand and the cold, winter-made knife in the other. He could feel the goggles squeezed as the man’s body tensed for the killing stab and then Walter was there between them. 

The strange human, intent on killing the birdman, found himself staring into a hard, ugly face twisted in fury. It screamed at him in a language he didn’t know as his blade sank into its shoulder and then his own shrieks drowned everything out as his eyeballs inverted in their sockets and every bone in the arm holding the knife violently dislocated. 

Dan wheezed, blinded by blood, but smelling magic. He tried to get up and get away from the painful screams. Walter was fumbling with him. Dan was bleeding. His breathing was shaky, but his pulse was fast and hard. Still very alive. The final stab intended for his heart had never hit. The killing blade was still lodged in Walter’s shoulder. He could feel it grating against his collarbone, and the cold numbness of iron reaching through his veins toward his own heart. Dan called his name, confused, but grateful. 

Walter took the goggles back with his good hand and pressed them back into Dan’s. One of them needed to be able to see and Walter’s vision was starting to blur. The blade was leeching his strength out of him. He could feel Dan moving, lifting them both up. He couldn’t hear the screaming anymore. He couldn’t see. Was he dying? Maybe. Just because the Washer hadn’t had his shirt didn’t mean he wouldn’t die. Plenty died without her attention. Dan’s arms wrapped around him and brought the darkness with them.


	9. Chapter 9

“Stay with me,” Dan whispered. “Just hang on.”

There was blood everywhere and all of it was his. Dan had been stabbed in the neck and taken some defensive wounds to his arms. There was also a gash on his head. That was where most of the blood came from. The neck gash wasn’t deep or near a vein, but it hurt miserably. Over all, it wasn’t bad, wasn’t fatal, but it nearly had been. The close call had him shaking. He felt frantic and light-headed, but luckily there was an auto-pilot to push. 

He had taken some nasty hits since he started heroing, but he had never seen the blade coming down and known in his bones he wasn’t fast enough to stop it. He had accepted that his calling could get him killed, but never imagined being blinded and fighting to clear his vision, only in time to see death flashing toward him in a neon-lit arc.

And then Walter had been there, a whirlwind of magic and malice. Dan had still felt the impact, but the blade had never reached him. Something had exploded, some shockwave of power. The thug had gone down screaming, Dan’s goggles had been returned, and he had been able to see the knife hilt sticking out of Walter’s shoulder. They had locked eyes, Dan so alight with relief that it had taken a moment to realize the color was running out of Walter’s skin as the strength drained out of his limbs. Dan had dragged him back to the ship, gotten them home. He had to tend his own injuries first, just to stop all the blood before he hurried to Walter.

The blade came out without a sound. The slit didn’t bleed and Walter moved feebly when Dan lifted him. His eyes opened, then closed again. He looked liked he was fading into the blanket Dan had spread under him, going white and flat. Dan remembered his earlier fears about sea foam and dried leaves and panicked. He scooped Walter up, held him close, terrified logic thinking maybe he would stay flesh if surrounded by it. 

Walter’s head lolled back against his arm and he held it steady. He was almost tempted to try CPR. Walter was as limp and pale as a drowning victim, but still breathing. Sort of. What was he supposed to do?? 

“Tell me what to do,” he begged. “What will help?” There wasn’t an answer. Walter didn’t even open his eyes this time. Dan hugged him tightly. The stab wound was thin and bloodless in Walter’s shoulder. How could such a tiny thing do so much damage? he wondered miserably. It hadn’t hit anything vital. It wasn’t blood loss or shock. It had to be just that the blade was made from iron. 

What happened to Fair Folk struck by iron? Dan wracked his brain for a story that had happened in. He had vague memories of goblins who vanished with a cracking sound and others who just disappeared. Was that what Walter was doing? Dan thought of Tam Lin. If Walter had turned to fire, Dan could still hold him. If he turned to water, Dan could cup his hands and catch it. A snake could be held too tight to bite. Dan was willing to be burned or bitten or whatever it took, but those were all things to pull a human out of the clutches of the fae. How did you hold one of them in the human world?

“Stay with me,” he said again. “Walter?” Still no answer and Dan found himself looking at the stab wound. It was just a slit in the skin. He used a fingertip to pull it wide. No blood, just a clean, dry stab, as if Walter had been dead and empty before the blade hit. He pressed his mouth to the wound, wondering if the iron’s poison could be sucked out like venom. Dan could feel the pain in his own wounds. The gash in his neck burned under the bandage he had slapped on it. The one in his scalp throbbed with his pulse and the bandages on his arms pulled as he moved. The helplessness hurt worse.

He thought of Tinkerbell, drinking poison to save Peter. Did their kind only die in exchange for mortal lives? All the things he knew of, kisses, tears, were for unenchanting humans. He had no idea what would work on a leprechaun. He had to dig in his fingers to feel the sputtering pulse in Walter’s neck. His own heartbeat was fast and painful. He cupped Walter’s head in his hands and looked into his face. It was so blank and pale and lifeless that Dan squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Clap if you believe,” he said and kissed him.


	10. Chapter 10

Walter finally knew where the magic had gone. The melusine was right. Nothing just vanished. It changed, adapted, flowed differently, but it didn‘t cease to exist. He hadn’t lost the magic, he had just stopped containing it. It ran through him instead of pooling in his chest and fingertips, ran through and coursed in and out of the world. Not gone, just spun into threads that bound everything that mattered to the world with stitches too small and fine to see by anyone who wasn’t draining off into all those threads. Walter was. It wasn’t unlike being in the river, carried along by currents of magic. He could feel it happening, feel himself becoming part of the earth and stone and river of the city around him. 

Then the hands grabbed him and held him. It was like waking from a dream. Part of him wanted to stay asleep, but there was something about the touch that snagged all those threads of himself unraveling into the world. He turned against the current and stopped. Someone was calling him and it pulled him the way the gold had. He heard his name and felt the warm press of lips into the coldest part of him, where the iron had cut. Pain lit, no longer cold and hard, sputtering to life like an old ember. 

Daniel was there, he realized. Remembering the name cleared some of the fading haze. Nothing else was that warm and real, hard-edged but soft in the ridges, nothing else felt and smelled so much like living gold. The hands he had always found excuses to be touched by were on him now, running over him, pressing close to let that flicker of pain pulse against them. They stroked over his face and wound into his hair, pillowing his skull in the palms. 

Walter had to fight back enough into his skin to feel it better. Daniel spoke again, something that made no sense to Walter, but then the kiss covered his mouth and it didn’t matter. It felt like desperation and tasted like sweetness and the sorrow of things unsaid. He had been kissed before, by all matter of creatures, some merry, some malicious. Some had soaked him in glamour intended to seduce and enspell. Some had just wanted his gold. Some had wanted to eat him. Some had been just passing through. He had pushed them all away. A human kiss didn’t have any glamour in it, but Walter still gasped. It still flooded him with warmth and liquid, still made his heart squeeze painfully and his eyes flutter open. 

Daniel was there, tear tracks on his cheeks, framed with drying blood. His face brimmed with hope which broke into a beatific smile when Walter breathed his name. Another kiss, this one all elation. Another one, just because there was no reason to stop now. Tears touched Walter's cheeks, but they weren’t his. The hands cradling his head slid to cup his jaws, tilting him back a little farther. His mouth opened under the next kiss and Daniel sank into it. 

Daniel didn’t have any magic in him, but it still redirected around him, channeling into the things he made and the things he touched. Walter could taste it arcing across his tongue, felt the rest of himself threatening to shatter like lightning-struck glass. The iron had sent Walter’s magic draining out of him, pulling him away. The power sparking off Daniel pulled him closer, anchoring him. Pain sang up in his joints and his bones throbbed, bowing from the pressure exerted from either side. Walter hardly noticed.

He wasn’t aware of much of anything until Dan seemed to realize exactly what he was doing and came up from air. They panted into each other’s faces. Walter wondered if he looked as stunned and breathless as Dan did. Ignoring the pain it caused in his stabbed shoulder, he raised a hand to touch Daniel’s lips. Dan took his hand and kissed it. Walter shivered, enthralled. Daniel’s smile stiffened suddenly.

“Shit,” he gasped. “You’re bleeding.” He focused eyes and hands on Walter’s shoulder and Walter strained to see.

“…w-what..?” His voice still sounded like it was being pulled away in the stones, but he could see blood, dark and red, running from the stab.

“It’s ok!” Daniel said and he actually did sound happy about it. His kissed Walter’s forehead, then his cheek, then his mouth. “It’s all right. I can fix this. Stay with me.” He went to work quickly and with obvious relief.

Walter endured it, wondering at all the new ways he was hurting, and feeling more of the magic Daniel didn’t even know he was channeling into sutures and scissors. Walter had never just gushed blood like this before. He was still too addled to make good sense of it, but he thought it might be because the iron had killed him. He hadn’t felt like a true leprechaun for a long time, but this was the first time he had ever felt human. It was worth it to stay under those hands and if there was a faint twinge of regret that the melusine might not talk to him anymore, but a stab of sharper pain made him gasp and by the next kiss even that was forgotten.


	11. Chapter 11

Walter hurt, not just his shoulder, but all of him, bones throbbing from some internal strain. It had been hard to get up when Daniel was done with his stitches. Pain locked his joints, especially his fingers when he tried to help Daniel redo his own bandages. Once patched up, Daniel gave them both some painkillers and they helped each other up the stairs. 

Daniel hadn’t wanted to let go of him, so when he steered them both to his bed, Walter didn’t argue. They lay together, Dan’s arm curled protectively under Walter’s head to keep him close. He was tired and had lost blood, so after another whispered “Stay with me”, Dan dozed off. The painkillers were working enough that Walter just felt sore, but he didn’t want to move at all with the warm press of Dan’s body against his. He had never been in a real bed before, and he could smell metal down in the mattress but it wasn’t hurting him. 

When they were stretched out side by side like this, Walter could see that he was taller than he had been. He had grown since he had crossed the ocean, more so since giving up claim to the gold, but being struck by iron had grown him more than those combined. Not as tall as Daniel, not as tall as many humans seemed to grow, but with their toes touching, Walter’s head could lay against Dan’s heart. 

He was tall enough to escape notice in a crowd of humans, tall enough to pass for one of them, tall enough to _be_ one. He felt a little hysterical at that thought, a little giddy, a little sick. What was he going to do? Who said he had to do anything? Daniel would tell him how to live this way. Daniel would help him. Walter snaked his arm around Dan’s back to hold him. His shoulder felt tight, but the meds were working and the pain was faint and far away.

He hurmed a contented sound into Dan’s chest, breathing in his scent and listening to the ocean-faint swish of his heart behind his ribs, safe and sound and not stabbed at all. Walter thought back to the sailors he had seen on his crossing, straining and whimpering and trying to stay in one hammock. They had been wise enough to turn to each other when the siren songs had compelled their lusts, hadn’t jumped overboard into the waiting nixie arms to die, but now Walter found himself wondering if it was the first time they had been so moved. 

He tried to imagine Dan that way, head thrown back, fingers knotted over his head. He wasn’t ropey and thin like the sailor had been. His barely-lit body would be all smooth curves of muscle, designed for greedy hands to stroke over. What would it be like to be inside him while he arched up and swooned back like the tides, hot and tight and outlined only in weak yellow lantern light falling through the cracks in the ceiling? Walter’s head swam and he shivered, and Dan instinctively hugged him tighter. 

What would it be like for Dan to take him, to be held tight and filled completely? To wrap arms and legs around him, to dig in fingers, to open wide to take as much of him in as possible and still strain for more? Walter’s own gasp snapped him out of that reverie. He was hard and every gulp of breath nudged him against Dan’s stomach. This might not be entirely right, but it was what humans did. He remembered seeing Daniel’s own grandmother with her back to an old oak and one leg curled around the waist of some faceless man rutting her against the bark. Humans did this. They felt this way. If he was human now, maybe it wasn’t as wrong. And maybe that was as much an excuse as the siren song had been to the two sailors, a more honest part of him grumped. But still…

“Daniel,” he whispered, giving him a little shake. “Daniel?”

There was a sleepy grunt and Dan’s eyes tried to focus on him. Walter was almost ashamed when realization lit them up and they scanned down with sudden interest. When Dan looked up again, his eyes were eager, but cautious. Walter looked back, and saw the threads of golden color in them brighten. Instead of being paralyzed this time, he found himself melting and nearly drowned in them right there. 

“You want to?” Dan whispered back, palms already on their way down Walter’s arms to twine their fingers. 

“Yes,” Walter said, not even considering what Dan had in mind because it didn’t matter. He wanted it, whatever it was.


	12. Chapter 12

It began slowly. They were both battered and sore and foggy from the pain pills and trying to be careful with each other. They started where they had left off with kisses that weren’t hungry or desperate anymore. They were both safe and if Dan had any reservations about fondling an eldritch creature he wasn’t showing them. His hands were moving in slow, purposeful circles finding places Walter had never imagined would be as sensitive as they were. He could feel the glow under each touch as if all his blood would chase the drag of fingers over his skin, like minnows after a pond skater. After all the panic and fear and fury, it was bliss. When Dan moved to kiss down his throat, he was finally able to talk again. 

“You’ve,” he gasped. “This. Before..?” He had to ask. The answer didn’t matter really, but Dan shook his head. He followed the line of Walter’s collarbone away from the small row of stitches and toward his chest, leaving a trail of trembling fire under the skin. 

“Not like this,“ he panted when he could stand to pull his lips away. “No one like you.” That could’ve meant anything, but he was tracing all the planes of Walter’s body with his hands and following them with his mouth and if Walter closed his eyes he could see the afterimage of Dan’s shape shining through his eyelids. It didn’t seem possible and if he hadn’t known that he didn't have enough magic to enspell a mortal, he would’ve been sure that Dan was enchanted. Why else would he stroke over Walter’s bony hips like they were precious? Or moan at the lift of Walter’s back to press against his mouth as if his face wasn’t being ground into the rough, freckled skin of a creature a hundred times older, uglier, and stranger than him?

It didn’t make sense, but Walter was just grateful that the anomaly was in his favor for a change. He felt fingers wrap around and squeeze and it was his turn to make an unfamiliar noise. No one had ever touched him that way, not even the ones who had tried to seduce him for his gold. They hadn’t wanted _him_. It was his nature to be solitary, to give nothing and ask for nothing. No one had ever had any claim on him and he hadn’t been able to imagine that changing, so why did the hot touch of a hand feel like it was searing a mark that would brand him forever?

Not even the melusine knew his name, but it was being whispered against his skin while tongue and fingertips drew binding sigils over the rest of him. He was helpless and caught and caged and owned and what word was there that could name the only person in existence allowed to do that? 

“Daniel,” he whispered, but the last syllable rose to a disbelieving yowl as Dan’s mouth slid wide, then pulled back to take him in. Walter hadn’t expected anything like that. To be inside, but still be taken? It was worse and sweeter than siren songs, and just as irresistible. Every hair electrified and the current sang down every line on his body and there were a few seconds where he might’ve begged Dan to stop if he had been able to make a word out the noises he was making.

It was overwhelming, but it only took a moment to make him frantic for more. His heels dug in so he could try to press closer and his hands clawed for more contact. He tangled them in Dan’s hair and accidently raked the gash there. Dan gasped and then choked and had to come up for air. Walter whimpered, thinking that he had ruined everything until Dan grinned at him and sank back down. 

They doubled over each other, trying to get closer and feel more. It was no wonder that humans had forgotten magic. They didn’t need it, not when they could do this, make this happen without it. It wasn’t magic he was feeling now, even if it glowed and burned and pulled through him like strings dragged taut the way magic could. Whatever it was curled over and around him, crested and crashed over him and left him thrashing like a landed fish, gasping and flailing for gold instead of air.


	13. Chapter 13

Waves ended in a crash and spatter of foam, drawing back with tingling hisses and leaving things dark and damp behind. This was similar. Washed up in the shore of a human’s bed and body, Walter was drawn back to himself by the gentle suction of kisses along his jaw. Dan’s finger brushed lightly as a moth over his cheek and to his bottom lip, which stung more than such a light touch could cause. He must’ve bitten it. Another kiss and they sank together into the pools of heat and shadow still left in the bed. 

Walter’s miserly but fair nature didn’t like not returning the favor, but by the time he was able to think of it, Dan had dozed off against him. His weight was better than a blanket, warm and alive. Walter enjoyed himself running his hands over as much of the sweet mortal body as he could reach without stirring. He did it lightly enough that Dan didn’t wake, even if he would murmur occasionally. Walter couldn’t tell what he said, but the vibration of his voice was worth the goosebumps. 

Walter savored every warm sigh against his ear and hitch of breath under his palms. He memorized it, or maybe just dreamed he was, because he wasn’t awake for as long as he thought. He dozed off too, halfway in Dan’s shadow. Even his dreams were half-lit and hazy until something tickled his mind awake. There was a startled moment when he didn’t recognize the ceiling. He had never woken up in this room before. But Dan was there, still asleep. Everything seemed fine. 

In the silence between Dan’s even breathing and the ticks and hum of the house, he thought he could hear a lament from the river. He could barely hear it unless he focused and strained, and had no idea if it was because it was faint or if he was becoming fae-deaf. It wasn’t as horrible a thought as it might have been. Even if he couldn’t hear what he knew was there, at least he did know it was there, and had heard it before. That made him luckier than most humans. 

Was the melusine mourning his fall to mortality? Was he really going to age and die now? He had no idea. Maybe he should go talk to her before she declared him dead to her. Maybe beg her for a blessing that would keep him from drowning in her waters, now that he might be able to. He should probably beg one for Dan too, just in case his metal bird ever sank.

Because he would take it out again. That certainty cut through the warm haze Walter was in. Daniel would go back out and put himself in death’s reach again. Walter’s first impulse was, as always, to hide what he treasured away where no one could take it, but even if Dan went along with that, the owl incarnation he was host to would never submit to be trapped or caged. Even if he had the strength to secure them by force, wouldn’t it sicken and die without the moon and night wind and the hunt? He couldn’t take that chance either. But what to do?

He remembered the torn shirt in the Washer’s hands and pressed his face to the spot there the stab should’ve cut to the heart. His free hand snaked up to rest on the line of sutures in his own shoulder. He would do it again. But how? He had no spirit, bird or otherwise, to possess and allow him to soar along with Daniel. He wouldn’t be there every time a blade was aimed at his- and then he really didn’t know what to call Dan and blushed even though there was no one to judge. 

Maybe he really should go to the melusine, ask her what was happening, beg for her help, but none of those things sat well enough with him for him to pull away. This was her fault anyway. She had brought him here. So maybe he should thank her. He almost smiled at that thought, imagining her response, and then focused on Dan’s pulse and breathing again until the he wasn’t sure he had heard anything else at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of the melusine [here](http://hermitchild.deviantart.com/art/lament-314935021).


	14. Chapter 14

Everything was fine until Dan tried to move again. Like a worm who thought the hook had just been a nightmare, he was stabbed all over again by the pain as soon as he woke up enough to move. He hissed, freezing in place which only made it worse. Beside him, Walter's eyes opened. Bleariness became alarm and then twisted into its own pain when Walter lunged up to help him.

"It's all right," Dan grated. "Tore open some scabs and I'm stiff. You?"

"Fine," Walter said, tried to sit up, and then grimaced. "Ehrn. Tight. And sore," he admitted. Dan extended his arms, flexing his fingers and letting the cuts in his arms remember how to stretch. His neck was reluctant to let him turn his head, but careful little movements finally allowed it. He saw that Walter was having trouble moving his arm too. His shoulder obviously hurt and didn't want to straighten out. Dan steadied him and craned to inspect the injury. He touched the stitches gently, relieved to see that skin was warm and had color, but not too much of either.

"No sign of infection," he said. "Seems ok for now. Will you check my neck and head? See if it's red or swollen or very hot." Walter got his legs underneath him to lean over. He held his one arm against his stomach to keep it out of the way. The bandage in Dan's hair was loose and there was dried blood crusted under it, but the skin wasn't red or heated. He touched it lightly, imitating how Dan had handled his. Dan didn't flinch, but he squinted a little. 

"Throat needs new bandage," Walter said, moving on. "But seems all right too."

"Mm," Dan agreed, leaning into his hands. Walter grumbled about scum daring to hurt him, not realizing he was saying it out loud until Dan grinned and caught his hands. 

"It's what I deserve for being too cocky," he said. 

"No," Walter said at once. "Deserve honor. Rewards." Dan looked at him, and the grin became something more hopeful.

"Grant me a wish?" he asked.

"Can't," Walter sighed. "If I still had magic-"

"You still have magic," Dan said. He ran his hands down Walter's arms and back up his sides to cup his face. Walter grunted, but didn't pull away. "I can feel it, even if you can't." Dan leaned in to whisper. "That's why I want you to fuck me so badly."

Walter inhaled, too engulfed in inner fire to notice the pain when he clutched Dan close. Being struck by lightning wouldn't have set him that ablaze. 

"Want to feel it inside me," Dan went on mercilessly. "Will you?" He pulled back enough to look Walter in the face. It was blank, but the bottom had fallen out of Walter's eyes, leaving them yawning, hungry pits. His mind was racing. _Yes. Now. How?_ He remembered the sailors again, struggling to find a position that wouldn't topple them out of the hammock. _How? How without hurting Dan, without ruining it?_

Dan had thankfully been able to interpret his sudden, predatory silence for what it was and had rolled to fumble for something on the bedside table. The smooth lines of his back bunched and rolled, no blood or bandages there.

"Don't," Walter heard himself gasp. He reached to stroke over the expanse of skin. "Don't roll over. Want to see you."

"Ok," Dan said, breathless. "Here." He slid back around, pouring something into his hands. The first touch of oil startled another gasp out of Walter and he bent to rest his head on Dan's ribs and watch Dan's hands on him. Dan was injured, he remembered distantly, he shouldn't have to do all this himself. He couldn't keep himself from thrusting into the slicked grip and Dan fumbled, spilling more oil on himself. 

Walter wet his fingertips in it and began drawing symbols and sigils across Dan's belly and thighs. Symbols that had once been carved in stone to mark territory were drawn in silvery oil. Dan's hands were now busy readying himself and he whimpered when Walter pulled back to watch again. The sight was enough. Walter pulled Dan's hands away to run his own over the spot. 

Dan made a sound that broke into a moan when Walter bent low to nuzzle in with his mouth. Dan did his best to muffle the sounds he was making, but the flick of a tongue up and over made him lurch and gasp out a strangled "No!"

Walter stopped and looked up at him. The tip of his nose and the lower half of his face was shiny from the oil and Dan had to thrash to hold back from coming right there. 

"Not until you're inside," he wheezed. He sprawled out, breath hitching. Walter dropped a kiss to the head and then scooted up to brace his arms. Pain still stabbed from the shoulder, but it didn't matter anymore. It only took a nudge for Dan to splay out and Walter sank in. It was all slippery heat and tightness and everything that there wasn't a word for. Dan found one. He was saying 'yes' now, softly and urgently, picking up pace as Walter did. 

He couldn't stop now, madly driving into and against and over and Dan's willingness only made it more delirious. The sounds Dan made rose to cries, which might've been worrisome if he hadn't been glowing. Walter could see it emanating golden and every thrust released more of it, engulfing them both. Nothing in Walter's long, solitary life had ever been like this and nothing he had ever valued was as worth treasuring and he couldn't stop until it was completely his. 

He had fondled and polished gold until it only reflected him, twisted and shaped leather until it only fit him. Now he had to pound into Dan until there was no part of him that wouldn't be claimed as his own. Dan's cries rose again, no words this time, just a howl. Walter felt him spasm and go over in a wave of motion and heat. His own stomach was marked now, he could feel it flowing into the spirals and lines of his skin to mark him as much as the oil had marked Dan. 

He kept going until the gasps became moans again. Dan was staying something that he couldn't make out over the roaring in his ears. Their eyes met, Dan's blown and brimming with gold around the black. It paralyzed him just like the old days, but for an entirely different reason. In the heartbeat of raptness, his control broke and he came with a sound that he wouldn't have recognized as his own voice even if he had been able to hear it.

His ears recovered before the rest of him did because he could hear Dan mumbling and whispering about how beautiful it felt. He didn't have the strength to argue even if he had disagreed. They lay together in a haze until their pulses and breathing got back under control.

"What-" Dan had to swallow to speak out loud. "What was that you were saying? Was it magic?"

"What?" Walter didn't remember saying anything. He might have forgotten how to talk entirely, which was why speaking took such effort. "W-what did I say?"

Dan had to think about it, get his own tongue under control to haltingly stammer out an ancient word. Exhausted as he was, Walter still blushed. Delighted, Dan had to pester him to get him to tell.

"Means mine," he finally admitted.

"Am I?" Dan asked, nuzzling against his cheek. "Will you keep me?" It occurred to Dan that it might be dangerous to say that to a fae, but Walter moaned and hugged him with his good arm. 

"Trade you," he grated, hiding his face. "Only fair."

"All of me for all of you?" Dan pretended to consider. 

"I get the better deal," Walter muttered and Dan laughed.

"Not after that," he said. Walter grumbled again, and they lay quietly until the room began to grow dark again. 

"Night," Dan said softly. Walter went on alert at once. 

"Can't go out," he said.

"No!" Dan almost laughed again then sighed. "Not until I'm healed enough to get the suit back on. Need to mend that too. How did you know to come find me?"

"Portent," Walter said after a pause. "Thought it was for my own doom. When I realized it was meant for you. Had to stop it."

"It almost was your doom," Dan said, gently kissing his shoulder. 

"Worth it," Walter said. He rolled over on top of Dan, lining them up so that his stab wound was directly over Dan's heart.

"Oh," Dan said. 

"Would do it again," Walter told him. " _Will_ do it again." He paused and Dan struggled for something appropriately awed and grateful to say. "When you go out again," Walter said, meeting his eyes. "Take me with you." Dan blinked. "Will find or make my own skin. Somehow. Go with you. Protect you."

Silence stretched thick and heavy. Walter hadn't exactly been asking and Dan wasn't sure he dared to say no. He had considered a partner before, but hadn't given it any more thought than that. 

"If," he said. "You tell me how to say 'yours' in that language."


	15. Chapter 15

When they were both healed enough to be moving, Walter took Dan down to see the melusine. He drilled Dan on how to keep from revealing his name and had him wait out of sight until she rose from the water. He heard Dan gasp when she appeared, but she hissed at the sight of Walter and didn't notice. 

"You are not as you were," she snarled, recoiling.

"Whose fault is that?" he snapped. "You brought me here to this." She shrank back farther, as chagrined as her kind was likely capable of. Walter knew Dan wouldn't understand what they were saying. He only knew two words in the old tongue after all. 

"I've seen the Washer," he said. "Need help."

"Too late," she hissed, her tail churning the water. "Too far gone."

"You owe me," Walter reminded her. "Grant me a boon. That neither of us will drown."

"Us?" She was instantly wary, looking around. Walter had hidden Dan well though. 

"You owe me," he said again and she sank down into the water until only her baleful eyes were visible. They could easily be mistaken for reflections. Walter waited, stern and unbudging until she remerged with a sigh and approached him. She stank of the polluted river, diesel and dankness and sewage defiling her.

"This I will do for you," she said. "And one other. Then you must seek help elsewhere." His only answer was a curt nod so she cupped her hands under her chin and blew into them. Her breath became a frothing white vapor that spilled over her fingers. It still smelled pure. She held it out for him to drink and when he bent his head over it, whispered her blessing over his head.

He would not drown, she promised. Her waters would never drag him down or choke his lungs. It would carry him to where he needed to go and flow over him gently always. Whatever happened to him, he would never drown. He raised his head to look at her when she was done and she seemed honestly sorrowed at his misfortune. Showed what she knew. 

He held her wrists so she couldn't dive away and whistled over his shoulder. Dan hesitated, but slowly appeared and the melusine growled in her throat like an uneasy cat. Dan was no happier about it than she was and inched to Walter's side. He had wanted to see what other fae folk Walter knew, but now remembered some of the creepier illustrations in his book and was reconsidering. 

The melusine, closer kin to nixies than Walter cared for, sensed it and altered her seeming, becoming pale and seductive. Walter hadn't expected that and was alarmed for a moment. Dan had his goggles on to see in the dark and was still aghast. He showed no sign of succumbing and when he wouldn't say what his name was, she offered her cupped hands with only a faint grumble. 

Dan didn't want to drink it, whatever it was. He didn't want to know what it actually was and which part of her produced it. Walter hadn't told him he would have to drink anything. He took a few breaths to stall and when neither leprechaun or stinking, oil slick, pollution-mermaid made any sign that they couldn't wait him out forever, he leaned over her hands. 

He wasn't going to put his mouth against her actual skin. He craned his neck to sip up some of the vapor. It tasted like mist, chilling him from the inside, and he could feel her whisper stirring his hair like cold fingers. He didn't know what she was saying, but he already had goosebumps. Walter's hands, warm and solid on his shoulder, pulled him back protectively from the water's edge. The melusine was gone with a splash and another hiss and Walter was leading him back down the tunnel.

Each step cleared Dan's head a little and he began to really process what it was that had just happened. She had been horrible, a monster, part snake and part emaciated woman, mostly hidden in a mop of tangled, black hair that was full of filth and garbage and dead things. But she had changed for a moment, wavering into something sleeker and okay, he could say it, sexier. The contrasting perceptions and the taste of river water down his throat made him feel a little sick. 

"Are there more like her?" he asked. Walter shrugged.

"Every river has at least one," he said. "She blessed us both though, so the others won't give us trouble." That thought overwhelmed Dan and had him hurrying to get up the stairs back to his safe, warm human house.


	16. Chapter 16

Walter needed clothes and he stubbornly insisted on making them, so Dan took him out to find whatever fabrics he liked. He made himself two suits, copying human fashions. Dan didn't have the heart to tell him that they were decades out of date, but considering that Walter himself was centuries old, that probably didn't matter. 

They walked the streets together. Dan showed him around, letting him get a feel for the city. He explained which neighborhoods had what problems and why. He pointed out gang colors and tags and everything else he could think of. Walter absorbed it all, nodding and processing it all away. He adapted well, going hard-eyed and menacing in dark places, blank and invisible in a crowd, and with only one pair of eyes on him, more curious and generous than even he himself seemed comfortable with. 

Walter was also finding little pockets of glamour in the human world. He already knew humans could redirect it, and Dan had woven his nest so full of it that it still seemed to glow even without fae sight. Anything made with full abandon, the wilder the inspiration the better, seemed to tangle glamour in itself. Walter was drawn to those things like a crow to shine. Touching them infused him with it and Dan had already bought him useless artwork and silly things after seeing the affect they had on him.

He also took Dan to see more magic. There were rocks in the park with invisible marks that Dan could only see through the goggles. There was a one-eyed bag lady that Walter swore had been enchanted. Dan didn't see anything magical about her and gave her a dollar. When Walter spoke to her in the old language, she screamed and ran away. He smirked a little, and Dan reminded himself that Walter hadn't lost any of his wicked streak. 

There was also a foul-mouthed and evil-eyed little goblin with a voice like crunching glass in a rusted out woodstove in a junkyard. It had fangs like broken toothpicks and gibbered something unfriendly at Walter before cursing at Dan. It wasn't a real curse, just foul language, so Walter rolled his eyes and let it go. 

"Hob," Walter told him as they walked away. "Used to be a brownie."

"What's the difference?"

"Brownies are house sprites," Walter said. "Adopt a house and help the people when it's needed. Punish them when it's deserved. But without their people they get mean. Become hobs. Stove is all that's left of his house and he won't leave it."

"Can we help him?" Dan asked. "Would he be happier if we brought the stove home, gave him a house again?"

"Still a hob," Walter said. "He'll torment you, run amuck in your house, your workshop, ruin everything. Might take him a year or three to gentle down. Not worth it." 

"Maybe Hollis could keep him in his work yard," Dan said, looking over his shoulder. The red gleam from the junkyard could've been the street light on a coke can or two sharp little eyes. 

"Save it for an enemy," Walter said. The junkyard dog barked at them as they rounded the corner and he glared at it. It glared back. Dogs had probably been more of a problem when he had been half his current size, Dan mused, but then again, he might've been able to curse their bones backwards then too. 

They headed back to Dan's brownstone. Dan wasn't up to patrol yet and had been spending his nights reinforcing his costume until the rest of him healed. Walter hadn't found himself a 'skin' yet, and all of Dan's suggestions had been refused. He had dug out his old comic books for ideas and Walter had flipped through them. 

They had agreed that skin or not, once Dan went out, Walter would go, staying in Archie at first. Dan had explained that it was not like the comics. The goons weren't always going to be large and stupid and he didn't stand around posing and saying dramatic things. He was usually too busy fighting. Walter seemed relieved at that. 

Did leprechauns use weapons? Dan wondered. His first thought was a shillelagh which would've been funny if he couldn't easily imagine the damage Walter could do with one. Swaggering along with his collar up and his eyebrows in his default scowl, Walter looked the type to be packing a switchblade or a shiv. 

"I should make you something," he said aloud. "You don't need goggles, you can see better than I can."

"For now," Walter said. 

"Any idea what you could use?" Dan asked. 

"I need a hat," Walter said.


	17. Chapter 17

It had almost closing time in the clothing shop when Walter saw the fabric. Dan had brought him in to look for a hat. His eyes had itched and his fingers had tingled and when he had looked around, there had been a roll of fabric against the wall behind the desk. He had recognized it immediately as being meant for him and gone straight to it over the clerk's yelping about not being allowed back there, and Dan's questions.

"My skin," he had whispered to Dan, who hadn't asked anything else, just gone to argue with the clerk over buying it. The clerk insisted that it was for a special order, after which Dan said that it didn't take a whole roll and they would buy whatever was left. Closing time came and went and the clerk finally had enough and threw them both out. 

Dan had promised to call in the morning and have a special order of the same fabric delivered, but that didn't matter to Walter. He disappeared shortly after dinner and Dan couldn't even pretend to be surprised when he reappeared at midnight with the whole roll under his arm. Walter tried to explain that it had known him and he hadn't been able to bear the thought of it being cut and that he had HAD to save his new skin from being made into something pointless and stupid. 

Dan just set about arranging an alibi if the clerk remembered their faces when the fabric was found missing. The excitement of having it kept Walter giddy and distracted all the way until morning. He hadn't actually made anything out of it yet, but Dan could hear the gears turning as he ran it through his fingers, letting the patterns shift. 

It was hypnotic, Dan admitted, the way the blots moved and flowed. It wasn't magic, but it was close enough. He looked over Walter's shoulder as he spread the fabric out on the table, smoothing it out and running his palms over it, watching the black billow out from each side of every touch. Dan leaned closer and dropped a kiss on the back of his neck to take the accusation out of his words.

"We'll have to wait awhile before you wear it out," he said. "This is the kind of thing a clerk will remember and they have my credit card information, so it could be traced back to us."

"If he remembers," Walter said, finally dragging his eyes away to squint back at him. There was a twist of mischief in his smile. 

"What did you do??" Dan asked, more curious than horrified, but aware that it could reverse quickly. 

"Marked him," Walter said. "So that every fae still in power on these streets will take an interest. Enough strange things will happen to him in the next few days that he won't even notice missing fabric."

"Really? How does that work?"

"Doesn't need any magic," Walter said. "Just have to know how."

"Have you marked me?"

"Hrn."

"Have you?"

"Not how anyone can see."

"What's the point of-"

"Except me." Walter looked up at him again. "I don't have the glamour for a come-hither, but I was able to scrap enough from the trinkets to mark you so that I can find you. "

Dan blinked at him, wrapping arms around his ribs and setting chin on his shoulder. Walter looked back at his hands and the stormy clouds spreading out from each one in the fabric. 

"Took me too long to find you last time," he rasped, clutching up fistfuls before letting it smooth out again. "Barely made it there before." 

"Gold's not enough anymore?"

"It's not _mine_ enough anymore," Walter said with a sigh. Dan's hands ran down Walter's arms and he leaned back into his chest. Dan made a thoughtful sound and gently slid his fingers in between Walter's. Even the web at their bases was leathery but Walter hissed at the feel of Dan's softer fingertips nestling between them.

"I am," Dan whispered into his ear before sucking the lobe between his teeth. Walter grated out his name and rocked backwards to rub against him. Dan ground back with a muffled groan and they moved gently until Walter scrabbled to lean forward on his elbows, using the edge of the table to lift up to the height that pressed them together. Dan's groan rose to a gasp. 

"Sure?" he asked, breathless. "On your, your skin?"

"So it can know you too," Walter panted back. He held Dan's palm to the cloth and then pressed his own forehead to it as Dan's free hand fumbled with their clothes.


	18. Chapter 18

His hand was clutched in the fabric. Dan's hand was clutched over his, their fingers as tangled as their legs. Dan's other arm was looped around Walter's ribs, under his shirt, nails digging into his shoulder to pull him back into each plunging stroke. Each one was like lightning, filling him, flooding him, coursing through him and into the fabric, sending out explosions of black with each motion and gasp of breath against it. 

The fabric was slick against his face. He was open-mouthed against it, barely able to taste the artificial bitter tang it had over the salt of the sweat running off him. His vision was blurring with each thrust and the blackness spread out in pulsing waves. It was like the shadow of wings, unfolding and curling back around him, as if Daniel had taken on his owl seeming to rut him against the table. The thought made him sob and his grip tightened, making the blots ripple around him in shockwaves.

Dan grip was suddenly gone from his hand and he raised his head to look for it before it slid between his belly and the edge of the table. Walter was barely able to arch any more, but Dan's hand wrapping and stroking doubled him over even farther. He choked back a cry and then gave up when the next thrust drove him into Dan's hand and Dan's teeth scored his throat just under his ear. He yowled, helpless and blind until the rumble of Dan's voice in his ear (whispering the word again) shattered everything into wet pieces. 

He came back to himself gasping like a fish against the fabric. The shapes it made were meaningless blotches now, much like his thoughts, hammered and splattered. Daniel rolled off him onto the desk. The wave of cooler air was welcome for a moment, but then Dan wrapped arms around him and that was better. Moments passed just remembering how to breathe and get back into that rhythm. The blots began to settle too, slowing their patterns down. 

The one under his face blossomed out like a butterfly and separated into something like battling swans. They made up and collapsed into each other, reemerged as the Morrigan's crow. That should've been a bad omen, but then Dan murmured something warm and wet behind his ear. He trembled and the shapes melted with him into a grinning flower that slowly became two horned people facing each other. The horns faded downwards and the bodies flowed together until they were the sailors locked together.

Walter took his handful of the fabric and rolled, wrapping it around him. Dan was glad to be face to face and didn't resist when Walter kept rolling to put him on his back. Straddling him, Walter couldn't keep both sides of the fabric up, so Dan took both ends and wrapped them around them like his cape. Walter sank down against his chest and let himself be cocooned. 

Dan looked up at him, flushed and sweaty and smiling at him. The cloth was making a slowly morphing halo behind his head. Walter felt his heart twist and had to bury his face against Dan's neck to keep his lip from wobbling. 

"No reason to be this good to me," he whispered. "Makes no sense to be this good."

"Maybe you did enchant me," Dan said, still smiling. Walter could hear it in his voice. "And I don't mean with magic," he added quickly as if Walter would be offended. Walter looked up to squint at him. Dan's smile was honest and his eyes gleamed so happily that Walter had to hide his own face again.

"Too much," he grumbled, trying to keep his hands from shaking by clutching tighter. Dan let him, freeing a hand from the fabric to stroke his hair with. Walter buried into the contact, soaking it up like it wouldn't last.

"Let me know when you can stand a little more," Dan said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Walter's head and relaxed under him. They lay that way for a long time before Dan fell asleep. Walter savored the steady rise and fall of his breathing then arched up to suck a sweet exhale directly from Dan's lips. He held it in for a moment, then blew it out carefully over Dan's heart with his whisper. 

"I love you," he told it as it swirled into spirals. He could've said 'don't leave me' or 'don't tire of me' or any other lovestruck wish, but that would've been cheating, so he settled for a plaintive "Don't doubt it. I love you."


	19. Chapter 19

The next few days were full of trial and error. Walter worked on the fabric and Dan reinforced his suit. They worked on both sides of the Nest, trading advice and tools every now and then. 

"Need armor on the throat too," Walter said as Dan pondered the benefits of Kevlar over or under his suit. 

"And you'll need a name," Dan told him."Like you told me with the melusine. If they learn your real name, you'll never be safe from them."

"Let them name me," Walter shrugged. He had finally accepted that he would have to cut the fabric, but was still hesitating over Dan's suggestion to put heat to it. "Something to whisper in the dark." 

"You're giving them too much credit," Dan said. "You should hear what they call me. We'll think of something for you. And I wanted to ask you about that hob in the oven. That's a cast iron stove. How does it live in something made of that much iron?"

"Used to live in hearths," Walter said with a shrug. "Hearths used to be made of stone. Had to change with the times or die out, I suppose."

"You can touch it now," Dan said.

"Don't like it," he grumbled. "Hate the feel of it. But it doesn't burn anymore."

"Evolution," Dan said. Walter didn't know what that meant, so he just grunted. 

"Went back to check on it," he said after awhile of working quietly. "The hob. See if it would agree to live inside again. Wasn't there. Junkman said he had sold it to a dressmaker shop."

"Oh well," Dan said. "Hopefully it won't run the seamstresses too crazy." Walter made an amused noise and they got back to work. By the end of the day, he had settled on a design for the skin, part hood, part cowl to fit over his head. He would make that first, and then decide about the rest. Dan was going over to visit a wiseman who had once been an owl too. Dan had told him about the man, but Walter wasn't sure exactly how they were kin. It didn't matter really. Dan invited him to go along, but he had shaken his head and kept turning his new mask through his hands, looking for any uneven or thin spots. 

Once alone, he trotted over to see what progress Dan had made. He was pleased to see the new armor covered Dan's vitals, mimicking the planes of the muscles of his chest and stomach. He traced light hands over it, looking for weak spots, but it was as well made as everything Dan did. He went back to his own work. There might be enough fabric to make him a full suit of it as long as he didn't make any mistakes and ruin any of it, but he didn't really want anything that form-fitting. The pictures in the books Dan had given him showed mask-wearers in bright colors tight enough to be skin. They were flawless, but still looked ridiculous. 

Walter wasn't about to expose himself that way. His form had never been beautiful and while it was better now (taller, leaner, more upright) he didn't want to frolic with it all visible like a pixie in a mushroom ring. He had always worn layers, coat over vest over shirt, heavy shoes over leggings under trousers. No reason to change that. He would add the swirling, beautiful, nightmarish, dream-like mask to it, add the unknown to the normal, as incongruous as everything about the fae. 

He pulled the mask on again, not to see if it fit, but to enjoy it. Now that no one was here to see him, he found a mirror and admired how the mask smoothed his rough features into something sleek and magical. It wasn't as smooth over his hair. He would have to cut it. His hair, that is, not the beautiful mask. He went looking for scissors on Dan's desk before deciding Dan could cut his hair for him. He wouldn't have to touch the scissors then, wouldn't risk nicking himself. And then Dan wouldn't be able to laugh if it looked bad. It would be Dan's fault, not his, and it was always better to not be the one at fault. 

He put the mask away again. He no longer visited the river. The melusine had said no more. He had taken her at her word. He put his corner in order and found his old coat, the one Dan had saved. The gold buttons were still on it. They still made his fingers tingle deep under the nails when he stroked them. He sat at the the bench and began carefully untangling the buttons with his hands. He didn't want to cut the threads, so he worried them free bit by bit, rolling the gold between his fingers, enjoying the sensation and smiling to himself.

A few too many beers later, Dan came home. He had a surprise for Walter and meant to stash it in Archie. Stealth was force of habit now, so he was able to get to the first landing of the basement stairs without being heard. The extra beers weren't enough to cloud out what he was seeing. 

Walter was sitting on worktable, hunched over, looking at something in his lap. In the silent Nest, Dan could hear his rough breathing and a faint clink. Dan could see the shift of muscles in his back as he rocked. Even slightly sloshed, Dan had a moment of indecision. His first impulse was to try to get back upstairs just as quietly and let Walter have his privacy to finish whatever he was doing. But if what he was doing was what Dan was pretty sure it was, maybe Dan could help a little or at least get to watch. 

He crept the rest of the way down and the truth was that if Walter hadn't been so absorbed, there's no way he would've been snuck up on. As it was, Dan was able to come up behind him and peer over his shoulder. He was almost disappointed before it occurred to him how hot it really was. 

Walter had a handful of gold buttons loose in one hand, rotating them gently with his fingers. That was the faint clink Dan kept hearing. Walter's other hand was delicately worrying the last button loose from the old thread. One sharp tug would've popped the thread, but apparently it was sweeter to unravel it gently. It made Dan remember the way he had reacted to the goggles when they first met and he leaned closer.

"Daniel," Walter sighed. "Smell weak beer on you. See your shadow."

"Then you don't need to turn around," Dan said kissing the back of his neck. Walter shivered, so Dan put arms around his waist. "Can I help?"

"If you're gentle." Walter might have been teasing him, and then again, this might some sensitive leprechaun ritual that didn't bear ruining. So he let one hand trail down Walter's arm to spoon their hands together. He felt Walter swallow hard against his cheek and lined up their fingers. There wasn't room for both of their fingers in the loop of thread that was all that was holding the button on. Dan stroked over Walter's fingertip with his own and then over the button. He rolled it one direction and then the other, making the loop of thread tighten around Walter's finger. Walter's exhale had the edge of a whimper. 

"Brought you something," Dan said as the loop was gradually pulled wider as the thread dragged free a centimeter at a time.

"Can tell." Walter pressed back against him and Dan kissed his jaw. 

"Guess again." Walter's grip must've tightened because the thread snapped and they both gasped when the button popped free. Dan managed to catch it and Walter's hand closed over his. "There," Dan said, pressing it to his palm. "Are you going to put them on your new coat?"

"No." Walter locked their fingers with the button held between their hands. "Can't wear them here, but still like to have them close."

"Brought you something," Dan said again. His free hand fumbled in his pocket. Walter half-turned to see. "It was supposed to be for tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?"

"We go out. My armor is ready. Your suit is ready." Dan moved around to face him. "I was going to give you this to celebrate, but if tonight is a gold night…" Like a magic trick, he produced a single, perfect gold coin. It was bigger than a quarter and slightly thicker, polished bright and without single nick. Walter's jaw must've dropped because Dan traced his lower lip with the edge of the coin.

"I told you I'd get you more," Dan told him. He kissed his side of the coin, pressing it against Walter's mouth. Walter groaned and pushed back with his tongue. The buttons were dropped over his lap as Dan tilted him backwards on the desk. Dan pulled the coin away so they could bury themselves in a kiss and used the wet edge of it to trace down Walter's throat to his chest. His goosebumps and nipples were noticeable even through the shirt. He moaned into Dan's mouth and Dan palmed the coin to slide it under his waistband. 

Walter went from helplessly enthralled to a greedy, grasping creature in a heartbeat. Dan almost wished he had caught him with his costume on. Tomorrow, he promised himself, then teeth in his ear made him forget everything.


	20. Chapter 20

His role began as little more than a bodyguard, but it didn't take long for Walter to start making an impression on the criminal element. His skin unnerved them, and his voice could switch from a hushed rasp that a thug would hear in his nightmares to a growled threat that would keep them from sleeping at all. They did give him a name, and it meant nothing to Walter. Dan explained what it meant, that it had come from their attempts to describe his shifting skin, that there was no insult in it. He accepted it, began answering to it, and then using it in reference to himself. 

The partnership was working beautifully so far, but Dan hoped that eventually Walter would stop worrying about him so much and join in just for the righteous satisfaction of making the streets better. He did seem to enjoy beating the snot out of people. Especially if they had weapons. Fifty years of despising humanity for the thieving bastards they were hadn't just disappeared because he had taken a shine to Dan. 

Dan was always a little awed when he thought about it. This could've been entirely different after all, if whatever about him that had intrigued Walter into holding back from his curse hadn't shown itself when it did. He could still be a boneless puddle in the Nest while an infuriated leprechaun trashed his house for gold no longer there and probably rained curses down on all Dan's neighbors in the bargain. 

Dan knew enough fairy tales to know that people who got more than they deserved by the whims of the fae had a tendency to ruin it and leave themselves worse than before. He was determined to never take Walter for granted and it wasn't hard really, because every night, Walter did something either on patrol or against bare skin that left Dan gasping "Wow."

They made progress. They fought crime lords and purse snatchers, hunted down slasher killers and corrupted officials. When one of the crooks they caught turned out to be about two feet tall, Dan was a little surprised at how Walter mocked the man's size. There was a time when he hadn't been much larger, but that might have been the reason why right there. Then there was the night Dan was nearly seduced by something that was drop dead gorgeous from the front, but a hollow shell from behind. Walter had spun her around to show the empty back and she had screeched and punched him before disappearing. She was part tree, Walter had explained around his swollen jaw. He didn't know what she needed from a human lover, but he wasn't sharing. 

Dan had been ashamed at how enspelled he had been. Walter had brushed it off, maintaining that the whole point was to protect Dan anyway. Dan had packed ice on his jaw and whispered 'yours' in the old language until Walter had relaxed enough to take a pain pill. That left him curled up in Dan's lap, having his curls stroked and fresh ice packs applied until the sun was bright. By nightfall, Walter had pried out a dislodged tooth and seemed surprised when Dan refused to risk going out when he was still hurt. They took a night off and Walter insisted he was fine by the next patrol. Dan knew better, but didn't mind being the protector for a change, and was smart enough not to say so.

It worked. They were a team. Other masks came and went without affecting their partnership very much. They saved people in distress, and caused distress to those who deserved it. Both of their masked personas were known and feared and hailed throughout the city, probably the whole country. Under their feet, though, the world was turning. The city grew colder and the world grew darker and even the innocents they rescued were hard-eyed, ungrateful things. Walter didn't care. He went on as resolutely as the enchanted stick that wouldn't stop beating the thieves that tried to steal it, never flinching, never faltering. More sensitive to the wax and wane of humanity, Dan took it harder, but Walter was his rock now and gave him hope. They stopped patrolling separately.

They kept on, investigating attacks and kidnappings. A police strike came and went. Dan stopped watching the news when it got depressing. They got all their information directly from the underworld, which is how they found out about the ransom deal that hadn't worked out and the girl that was still missing.


	21. Chapter 21

Their sources had led them to the deserted street in what used to have been part of the garment district and they didn't even have to check addresses. One of the broken down shops was vibrating with the hysterical barking of what sounded like a pack of dogs being slowly electrocuted. Even if this wasn't the place, something was going on. The lock was old and easily kicked in. Almost immediately, a bawling dog barreled out. It was wailing, tail tucked, and running as hard as it could go. There was more commotion somewhere inside, so they hurried in. 

It was dark and miserable. Walter was picking his way through when he stopped so quickly that Dan nearly ran into him. There was the old wood stove they both remembered. It had been years, but the evil-eyed hob was not a thing anyone forgot. It was glaring at them from its perch on the belly of a dead man, clutching a cleaver bigger than its own body. 

The man's head was split open and one of his arms was missing. The rest of the body was covered in gashes. Whatever had set the hob off, it hadn't been able to stop hacking at him. Walter wasn't really surprised, but there was amazement in the mix. A loyal, hearth-sweeping brownie becoming a foul-mouthed, biting hob was unpleasant, but a hard fact. To see one outside its oven, much less wielding a cleaver to kill its house's human occupant, was completely unnatural. 

"Jesus," Dan whispered, aghast. The hob snarled at him and then sprang, still clutching the cleaver. Walter grabbed it in midair and twisted it around to pin to the floor. It snapped at him and tried to squirm enough to get its jagged teeth in his hand. He couldn't let it bite him or Dan. The wound would likely rot and waste given the state the hob was in. Was it even still a hob or had it devolved into something even more horrible?

"Go check out back," he said to Dan. "I'll speak to it." Dan nodded, willing to be as far away from the snarling, spitting little goblin as possible. Walter turned back to it and glared into its ember eyes. He didn't have to use fae-speak. All brownies could speak and understand mortal languages, but he wanted it to know that he hadn't always been human and might understand. 

"Tell me," he told it. It kicked and its sharp toenails scored the leather of his sleeve but didn't puncture. The teeth would go through like needles. He gave it a shake. "Tell me!"

"Dead!" the tiny thing roared. It was no bigger than a rabbit, but it's voice was deep and guttural. "Dead, dead, dead!" There was so much vicious rage in that word that Walter was able to guess. Brownies loved their families, and took special care of the children. Even hobs could be grudgingly fond enough of a child to become something like a brownie again if they were treated well. 

"The girl," he said aloud. The hob's breathing was wild and harsh through its mismatched teeth. Walter could feel it heaving under his hands. His own voice had softened with resignation. "Where?" He let it up and it led him to what passed for a kitchen. The counter tops were deeply scored and what was left of the girl was stacked in the sink . She had bled out down the drain and the pieces had been washed. There was more blood around the floor and the man's severed arm under a table. This must've been where the hob had attacked. Walter took a deep breath. He had seen worse, dealing with redcaps and the like, but he didn't want Dan to see. He wrenched a cabinet door off and covered the sink with it. A moment later, Dan returned breathless and wary. 

"There's another dog going crazy out back," he said. "No sign of the girl."

"She's here," Walter said and his tone told Dan all he needed to know. His shoulders slumped.

"God," he muttered, putting hand to his head. He sighed and then turned to look at the corpse of the man. The hob wasn't through with it. It bared teeth at Dan again and yanked the body around the corner. Dan yelped and it was hideous to see the body whip nightmarishly away across the floor. If the hob had been that strong, Walter knew he wouldn't have really been able to hold it if it wanted. They both ducked around to see. 

The hob was dragging the man into the oven behind it. He didn't fit, but the force he was being pulled through the stove door broke bones and peeled back skin until only the gaping face was visible. 

"Jesus," Dan whispered again. Another yank, and the man was gone. The stove looked black and empty until the coal-red eyes of the hob lit up in the darkness. The malice in them had Walter shoving Dan towards the door.

"Out," he said, then more urgently. "Go!" Dan didn't need much encouragement. A shockwave of heat and flame burst from the stove. The raggedy curtains and a lampshade caught fire instantly and the whole room ignited like it was doused in gasoline. Another blast and the whole building went up. Dan's cape saved them from the worst of it, but they still had to slap out a few flames along Walter's hat brim back out into the street. The shop was already an inferno and they stared at the wall of fire for a moment before Dan broke for the payphone again, mumbling about the fire department. 

Walter could see the dog that had run out cowering from the fire out by the back fence. The fence was shaking and on the other side, he could hear the terrified clamor of the other dog. Despite how afraid it was, the first dog wouldn't leave its packmate, so Walter sneered at himself and found a board weak and loose enough to be pulled free. The second dog was big but underfed and crowded out as soon as it was able. The two dogs fled across the street, but didn't know where to go, so they hid beneath some stairs. Walter almost joined them when police and fire trucks arrived. Dan explained, sort of, something about a rigged explosion, and they pulled back to let the humans work. 

"What the hell happened?" Dan asked.

"You're the one that wanted to give it to your friend," Walter reminded him. 

"Maybe I'll take the dogs instead," Dan said, refocusing. "He has an old German Shepherd already. Named Phantom. These two can help him guard the shop."

"If you can catch them." Walter turned back to that fire. Miraculously, neither building on either side burned, but it still took hours to put out. The heat was so intense their faces felt singed and their eyes got tired of watching it burn. There was no chance that anything human had survived it. Dan had eventually had to go buy a bag of 99 cent burgers to lure the dogs into Archie and take them to Hollis Mason's. Hollis had agreed to give them the run of his junkyard since Phantom was more of house pet now. He had already named them Spook and Specter by the time Dan had gotten back to Walter. Firefighters were still scurrying and the flames were still a story high, so they went home. 

Walter was silent and brooding the whole trip. He took so long taking off his costume that Dan came to pull off his gloves, remove his hat, and slip fingers under the edge of the mask. He rolled it up to the nose and pressed a kiss to his mouth. Walter snapped around him like a Venus fly trap, mouth and arms hungry. They ended up in a pile of both their costumes in the floor. It was more possessive than desperate. Walter's fingers dug through clothes, pinching and kneading handfuls of Dan's flesh like there wasn't enough of it. Dan had a flickering wonder at what it meant before he was pulled under. _This is still mine_ , maybe, or more likely _That will never happen to YOU_. Whatever it really was, it bordered on painful until Dan gave himself up to it and let them both wail and whimper into each other's mouths.

"You ok?" Dan asked afterwards. Walter's fingers tightened in his hair.

"Could've been different," he said.

"If we had gotten there sooner." Dan offered, not sure if that was what Walter meant. It was always hard when kids suffered. Hollis had stories from the beat that added ten years to his face while he told them. Most of them involved children and endings that would never be happy again. 

'If the hob had snapped earlier." Walter's voice wasn't accusing, but his eyes were dark. Dan kissed him to make them close. 

"We'll go check again in daylight," he said. "See what's left." Walter nodded, but didn't open his eyes. They slept where they lay until near afternoon.


	22. Chapter 22

When they made their way back to the site of the fire, all that was left was a smoking lot and the old iron stove in the middle of it. Nothing was left of the house, but the buildings on each side were untouched. There was crime tape and footprints through the ashes, so it had already been investigated.The sink was a brittle shell now, too eaten by fire to be salvaged. Had there been anything left of the girl's bones? Would anyone but them ever know what had happened to her? Dan was wondering the same thing.

"Do you think the parents know yet?" he asked. Walter made a sound and shrugged. "I've read about changelings," Dan went on. "I'd almost rather send one of those home than have them grieve."

"Doesn't help the real child any," Walter said. It was Dan's turn to make a sad little agreement and they both turned to the stove. Dan remembered how the hob had sprang and approached carefully. The metal was still smoking and the smell of hot iron was unpleasant, but they found something to nudge the door open with. Walter hissed softly at whatever was there, but Dan hadn't brought his goggles and couldn't see it. Walter checked to be sure no one was looking and pulled Dan's face down to his own. 

"Should just spit," he grumbled, but he was gentle as he ran his tongue quickly over each of Dan's eyes. It felt weird. Dan blinked, squinted, and looked again and this time saw the blurred gleam of red eyes like embers deep in the furnace. The hob was crouched down like a gargoyle, knees as high as its head. It wasn't moving and looked blackened and ashy. It might've been carved out of stone. It was holding something that looked like a scrap of fabric. It didn't respond to Walter in either language, or even when he poked it with a piece of rubble he found. 

"Is there any hope of helping it now?" Dan asked under his breath, like he was afraid of offending the hob.

"I don't even know what it is now," Walter said, not bothering to lower his voice. Dan looked a little longer. The more he blinked, the more the hob seemed to become a clump of ashes in the old oven. 

"We can go get some insulated gloves and some tongs," he offered. "Borrow Hollis' old car to move the oven."

"You can NOT let this thing in your house," Walter declared. He faced Dan and held his arms out to take in the destruction around them. Dan held up his hands too, already agreeing.

"The tunnel I tested the flame throwers in," he said. "Completely fireproof and not connected to the main house. We can set him up there, give him a place, let him settle enough that it will be safe to give him to somebody."

"Unless it never does."

"Then, we seal up the tunnel and slip him a bowl of milk every now and then," Dan said. He was already heading back to the sidewalk, every step stirring the ashes. Walter hurried after with a final glare at the hob. He was more frustrated than annoyed. He didn't need any more than what he had, but he would fight and kill to keep it all. Humans used the expression 'good as gold' and Dan was so good, too good, that it overflowed from him and while Walter wasn't exactly jealous, especially of a hob, it was still his nature to want to hide something that precious and keep it safe. But keeping it safe would be Walter's job, after all.

He would keep Dan safe from everything, even his own soft heart. Hobs were hard to kill, but Walter could handle iron now and if it hurt Dan, he would nail it to the underside of a railroad tie. And maybe Dan was right, and the hob could be given to someone who needed a house guardian. And more likely, maybe they would be cleaning up ashes and piss and putting out fires and tending bites until midsummer. Walter shoved his hands in his pockets when he caught up and grumbled something.

"Say again?" Dan asked, prepared for the tirade. 

"Can't save everything," Walter snarled. 

"Have to try," Dan said, smiling sadly. "Can't not try."

"Soft," Walter muttered and Dan actually laughed. He leaned over as they walked, bumping shoulders.

"Only a few parts," he said into Walter's ear. Walter wasn't so irate he didn't blush a little. He snorted to cover it up, but didn't step away. They both increased their pace. They would have to hurry to get the oven moved and reinstalled in time to patrol tonight.

 

END


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